


The PeRFect Combination

by FanofRF



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 34,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5053849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanofRF/pseuds/FanofRF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy Greene has become the successful candidate to work for Roger Federer. Roger is working through some difficult personal issues and so finds that he needs Amy in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Amy's Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever Fan-Fic. and it had to be about Roger.  
> You'll find Rog, Nole and Rafa in here, but the main focus is on Roger's relationship with the enticing Amy Greene (an entirely fictional character).
> 
> In this work, Novak is the person that I really wish him to be (not necessarily the person I believe he may be)
> 
> Also in this story, Roger is fairly submissive and very inexperienced. It seemed to work better that way.
> 
> Finally, anything in italics is written in first person from the perspective of Amy as she dreams.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy arrives at the Federer household and doesn't quite make the first impression that she wanted to.

As she strolled up the hill, the sun blazing down on her shoulders, Amy began to get excited. The email had told her that she had been the successful candidate to become the new assistant to Roger Federer. To Amy, this wasn’t just any old tennis player. This was Roger Federer, the greatest tennis player in history! She had come to admire the tennis champion through her TV screen, watching his mastery of the sport as he darted around the court jumping gracefully and elegantly into the air and coming down with a powerful strike to absolutely obliterate his opponents. 

 

Amy had no interest in playing the sport herself, but enjoyed watching a match (especially if the Fed Ex was playing). She had never developed the skill or agility that she knew was required. Unfortunately, she also knew that to play the game, a level of discipline was required. Amy had never been one to follow the rules. She was often referred to as sneaky, and someone once went as far as to tell her that she was manipulative. It wasn’t her fault that she was beautiful! Amy knew that she had been blessed with good looks. She had got lots of attention from men who would talk about her glossy brunette hair and her sparkly green eyes. Perhaps she thought, that was why she had been picked for the job! She had been required to send a photograph – that was it! Roger had fallen in love with her! 

 

After this thought, Amy had a new spring in her step. It was 7:05am, she was 5 minutes late, but if Roger was in love with her, he would forgive that. While she walked, she thought of ways in which she could introduce herself to the newly single Federer. _What a shame about their marriage – NOT_. The split had been very public. Roger’s face had been plastered all over the papers. Luckily for Amy and for the rest of the world, this hadn’t stopped him from playing. However, he had been more withdrawn than usual from press conferences, interviews and events. 

 

It was now the off season. Roger would be practicing. It was well known that Roger didn’t holiday. His first love was tennis. It was his wife, his mistress and his baby. Many others would call it his bitch. 

 

Who would be meeting her at the location? Would it be another assistant? A manager? Would it be the Fed himself? Surely a man worth 65 million wouldn’t spend his time meeting with nobodies like her. Although, if he did look at her picture and find attraction, she thought, maybe he would come out to greet her. Maybe he would even hug her, kiss her. More?

 

Amy picked up her pace. She didn’t want to keep such a man waiting. She had followed the directions. They had taken her to a lake in Switzerland – she knew what this would be. She was going to Roger’s house. Sure enough, as she rounded the last corner, an enormous glass mansion came into view. Perched on the edge of a hillside, almost overhanging the sparkling lake, there it was. Her stomach started doing somersaults. Nerves kicked in. Pulse racing. She was going to meet the world number one. 

 

Finally, Amy reached the front door. She rang the bell but there was no answer. Had she lost the job? Was it because she was late? Shit! She had jeopardised it all! Damn her arrogance! She followed a path around the side of the house which took her down some steps flanked with beautiful flowering bushes. It really was beautiful out here, she thought. It was absolutely silent. Just as she was thinking this, a distinctive sound came about. The sound of tennis. The bouncing of the balls. She followed the noise. It led her further down the steps, closer to the lake. Amy’s heart was now beating fast. There’s no way a housekeeper would be doing this, and judging by the speed at which the balls sounded like they were being hit, it was definitely someone good at tennis. She still could not see a tennis court or where the sound as coming from, but as she got ever closer, she started to hear the faint sound of soft grunting, the kind of noise you hear when you put effort into something. Those noises sounded distinctly like Federer’s. Unusual, because The Fed was usually very quiet on the court, very quiet indeed. She was approaching the end of this path and she could see that it went round to the left. This was it. Before she turned the corner, she stopped. Her heart was racing, her palms sweaty and her stomach was like jelly. She quickly smoothed down her hair, licked her lips to give them some moisture and checked herself over. Then she rounded the corner. 

 

It was him. Roger Federer. The best tennis player to ever walk the earth, grace the screens, play Wimbledon or enter her dreams (which he had done on more than one occasion). He was practicing his serve, picking up balls and delivering them quickly to the opposite side of the court with a slice of his racket. He wore shorts and an orange t-shirt. On his head, he wore a white cap which shadowed his face. Amy had entered at the side of the court. Roger was to her left and he stopped as he saw her walk in. Amy stood still. Her feet were rooted to the ground. For a second they looked at each other. _He’s forgotten me_ , thought Amy for a second. 

 

With a dismissive strike, Roger threw his last ball up into the air and delivered it across the court. Amy’s mouth had suddenly gone very dry. _Oh my god, he’s coming over!_  
Roger passed his racket to his left hand and walked slowly over to Amy, his head turned downwards. Amy’s instinct kicked in, the only instinct she knew – _flirt_. She teetered over in her red Jimmy Choos, tossed her hair over her shoulder and pouted as she threw her hand out for Federer to shake. 

 

“No heels please”. His voice invaded her body, struck her like a weight. Deep and smooth. It was only then that she realised that he was talking to her. She quickly slipped her heels off and kicked them over to the side. She turned around and stood face to face with her idol. He regarded her coolly for a couple of seconds. He was a good foot taller than her.  
“Good afternoon, Miss…”  
“…Greene, Mr Federer.”  
“Nice to meet you, Miss Greene”  
He took her hand firmly and shook it. Amy noted that he had barely broken a sweat and he smelled so good.  
“You’re late” he stated, the slight Swiss accent lingering on his tongue. Amy felt dumbstruck. Was this how he was going to be? A taskmaster? Was this the discipline of the sport?  
“I would have been turned away from Wimbledon if I had been late”. Clearly, he took the game seriously off the court too. How could she come back from this? _Flirt._  
“My sincerest apologies Mr Federer”. Amy fluttered her eyelashes and broke an enormous grin. She even pushed her breasts up slightly so that they brushed his chest. Roger seemed to be oblivious. _Uh oh! What if he is gay? Maybe that is why he split up with his wife!_

 

“Can I do anything for you Mr Federer?”  
Roger narrowed his eyes for a few seconds. He seemed to be assessing her capabilities. He brushed his gaze over her from top to bottom, lingering on her legs.  
“Get changed.” She liked the sound of this instruction. She gave a little curtsey and flicked her hair over her shoulder.  
“Right away Mr Federer”. She picked up her heels and headed towards the house. 

 

15 minutes later, and Amy was back on court. She stood on the opposite side of the court to Roger and she thought for a second that there may have been the faintest glimpse of a smile at the corner of his lips when he saw her in workout gear. There is hope yet, she thought. She couldn’t help but remark on his beauty. His hair hung around his face in loose curls, his eyes were deep set and dark. His shoulders were a thing of beauty, broad and sturdy. I wouldn’t mind my legs being wrapped around those, she thought. 

 

She felt strange in her workout gear. Her breasts were squashed tightly against her chest – Roger had insisted that she wear two sports bras. The fabric of the top he had provided for her was soft and thin. It slid around on her skin and it was at least 2 sizes too big for her. The last time she wore trainers was when she did PE in school. Her life since then had generally consisted of parties, seeing friends and living at home with her parents. So how, she thought, was she stood here, opposite the best tennis player in the world? She felt a fool. How was she going to flirt with Roger Federer swamped in baggy clothes?

 

“Throw the balls above my head” he instructed. Amy did as she was told. She threw the ball as hard as she could at Roger’s head, except, that’s not where the ball went. Ok, maybe she hadn’t attended enough of those PE sessions at school. The ball went five feet over Roger’s shoulder. Roger tracked the ball with his head, but his feet did not leave the ground. He shook his head and raised his racket ready for another. Amy obliged and threw another ball. This time it didn’t even make it over the net. Amy felt mortified. How could she perform like this in front of Roger Federer? Roger walked over to the net.

 

“Try throwing like this”. He took a ball and proceeded to demonstrate the perfect overarm throw. Amy nodded.  
“Yes, Mr Federer”. She returned to the baseline and Roger took up his position with his racket raised. He bent his knees and lowered his back. His racket twirled in his nimble fingers as he waited for the ball to come his way. Amy remembered how Roger had shown her the throw. She straightened her back, looked forwards, bent at the elbow and threw the ball as hard as she could. It flew over the net like a bullet, straight at Roger Federer, catching him right between the legs. He let out a strangled cry and fell to his knees. Amy ran over to him on the other side of the net where he kneeled, his hands clutching his racket, his knuckles white.  
“Mr Federer, are you ok? I’m sorry!”  
Roger’s face was buried in his arms. He made no sound. Amy could see the newspaper headlines – _‘Federer Retired’, ‘Tennis Balls meet Federer’s Balls’, ‘Federer is no more’._  
“Please get up!” she pleaded. Roger let out a soft groan and brought his head up to gaze across the court. His breathing was heavy and laboured but he wasn’t crying or screaming. Amy had a sudden idea.  
“Would you like me to check you over Mr Federer?” In her head, this was a perfectly reasonable expectation. After all, she had made the shot. Roger didn’t react. Instead, he slowly got to his feet. Amy got the impression that she wasn’t needed and so made her way back to the other side of the court, and as she did, she saw Federer slide his hand down the front of his shorts discreetly. This stirred up a mixture of feelings deep inside of her. What would it be like to be that hand? However, these feelings were quickly replaced by those of embarrassment and regret. 

 

Finally Roger spoke, through gritted teeth “enough training for today I think.”


	2. Novak Djokovic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an embarrassing first practice session with Roger, Amy is given a brief tour of the house by the housekeeper. Then a visitor arrives to shake things up a little.

While Roger Federer had been showering, Amy was treated to a tour of the house by his maid. She was shown the kitchen, with its enormous fridges and its immaculate worktop. She was shown the living room, the dining room and the bedrooms. Each room was beautifully furnished and well kept. _Federer has good taste_ , thought Amy. The bathrooms were unreal. Baths, hot tubs, ‘experience’ showers, the lot! Amy was then shown to her room, another well decorated bedroom with her own en-suite bathroom. She was given time to unpack and freshen up. She used this time to phone home.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Hey Mum, it’s me. You ok?”  
  
“Yeah sweetheart. Did you get to Switzerland ok? Are you there yet?”  
  
“Yeah I’m at his house”  
  
“You never are! Are you enjoying it? What’s he like?” Amy paused and thought about her day. It hadn’t gone to plan. She was supposed to arrive and fall madly in love with him, and he was supposed to succumb to her charms and develop a forbidden and passionate relationship.  
  
“He’s hard to please, Mum”  
  
“Give him time Amy. He’s world Number one”  
  
“Thanks Mum, speak soon”.

When Amy had finished with her room, she left in search of Roger. She felt determined to make things right so that she wouldn’t be fired on the first day. She found Roger in his living room. He was on the phone, speaking in French to someone. She had heard that he could speak 4 languages fluently. She had been quite happy listening to him speak English, but his French was beautiful. She lingered at the back of the room where he couldn’t see her and listened to him a while longer. She noticed him place his hand lightly on his leg next to where she had hit him with the tennis ball.

She quickly left the room before he could notice her and headed to the kitchen. From the freezer, she took a bag of frozen peas. When she returned to the living room, Roger was still on the phone. She quietly walked to his side and tapped him on the shoulder. He glanced up at her. She offered the peas with an apologetic shrug. Continuing to talk in fluent French over the phone, Roger took the bag of peas, gave Amy a courteous nod and placed them gently over his crotch. His first reaction was to flinch, but he then relaxed his shoulders and sunk slightly into the sofa.

At that moment, there was a ring of the doorbell. Roger quickly turned around to Amy who acknowledged his intent at once. She headed for the front door. She opened it to find Novak Djokovic standing before her. He was tall, taller than Fed, by about an inch. He was much slimmer too. His dark hair was thick and fluffy and he had a wry smile playing on his face.   
  
“Mr Djokovic…”   
  
“You must be the new assistant”

His eyes travelled up and down Amy’s body as if they were pulling down every invisible zip and toying with the contents beneath. Amy had to admit, his forwardness was on-turning, she certainly wasn’t getting any of that from Federer. _Maybe he is gay after all…or just celibate._ Maybe she would get further with Djokovic, though she didn’t like him quite as much. She licked her lips and casually tossed her hair behind her shoulder. She was glad to be out of the sports bra now.   
  
“Mr Federer is on the phone at this present time, Sir”. Djokovic chuckled.   
  
“Rog can wait” he said, as he continued to mentally undress her. He put one hand above him and leant on the door frame. Amy took a small step forward so she was almost close enough to be tucked underneath his arm. She batted her eyelids at him and smiled.   
  
“Is there anything I can help you with in the meantime, Mr Djokovic?” Amy knew she was playing with fire, but this was fun! This is what she had come for! Not to be put into sports clothes and then made to feel awful for having hit Roger Federer in the balls. Novak’s smile broadened.   
  
“You can start by telling me your name.”   
  
“Amy…uh…Miss Greene, but you can call me Amy if that’s what you’d prefer, Mr Djokovic” Amy had played this game before and she was very good at it.   
  
“How did Rog end up with a stunner like you?” drawled Djokovic. _Keep it coming, Mr Djokovic_ , thought Amy.   
  
“I just applied, Sir” she replied, fluttering her eyelashes.   
  
“Such a shame what happened to the last assistant” said Djokovic. Amy was curious. _What happened to the last assistant?_ She decided not to press the matter.   
  
“Anyway, how are you getting on with ol’ Fed?” Amy scoffed.   
  
“Not well actually. I hit him in the balls earlier today. Yep. First day on the job and I hurt my new boss and possibly make him infertile”. Djokovic threw his head back with laughter.   
  
“HA! Rog needs someone to bring his balls back to business”. Amy felt a little uncomfortable with this statement. She didn’t quite understand why. Perhaps she didn’t like how Djokovic was implying that he was a wounded lion somehow. At any rate, Roger was going through a divorce. Not a fair comment.   
  
“You can come and work for me if you like”. Djokovic gave Amy a wink and her heart skipped a beat, for not only had she wanted someone to flirt with her, but she also hadn’t expected to have Roger Federer’s hand on her shoulder.   
  
“She will do no such thing Novak”. Amy looked around at Roger. “Thank you Miss Greene, I’ll invite Mr Djokovic in”.   
  
“Very good, Mr Federer”. Amy walked away and looked back to see Roger shake Djokovic’s hand.

She returned to her room and sat on her bed. This was useless. What on earth was she thinking? She could barely throw a ball, let alone hit one with a racket. What use would she be to Federer? She could pack it in and go home, but that would be leaving Roger on his own. She didn’t like that idea. She had an idea. She found the kit that Roger had provided her and she pulled it on. She laced up her trainers, tied up her hair, grabbed one of the RF caps and put it on. She could hear Djokovic and Federer talking in the living room. She made her way quietly to Roger’s room in search of a tennis racket and balls.

His room was cool. There were doors out to a balcony which had been left open so that a breeze came in. On his bedside table, there were photographs. Amy sat on the edge of the bed and looked at them. Two beautiful blonde girls, and two baby boys. His twin girls and twin boys. Amy hoped that she hadn’t made Roger Federer infertile – he produced beautiful children, but at any rate, would he want any more? Surely he had enough.

Amy replaced the photographs but felt she wanted to know her boss a little more. She glanced over her shoulder to check that no one was looking and she opened up the drawer of the bedside table. Inside there were mints and condoms. Amy made a mental note. _Nice to know he’s safe._ She brushed the box aside and found another photograph. A beautiful woman stood beside him. There were smiles on both of their faces. This was his wife. Or his ex-wife. Amy didn’t know the state of his divorce, though the whole world claimed to know that the marriage had been off for months.

This felt too intrusive. She replaced the photograph, moved the box of condoms back to its original position and closed the drawer. She stood up and found a tennis racket in the corner of the room, along with two tennis balls.

Without telling anyone, she left the house and followed the path down to the tennis court. It was late afternoon now, the sun was setting and it was considerably cooler. The breeze was making the bushes sway gently around her. She stepped lightly and silently down the steps and entered the tennis court.

It had seemed much smaller earlier. Perhaps Federer’s massive presence had taken up the space. Right now, it seemed like a huge expanse. How on earth did these tennis players get from one end to the other so quickly?! She put down Roger’s racket and the balls and practiced running from left to right and back again. She found that this was really hard so she stopped. Out of breath, she picked up the racket and tried to hold it comfortably in her hand. It was heavier than she thought it would be. If she swung it the way she had seen Roger do it on TV, she thought she would break her wrist! She picked up a tennis ball and practiced bouncing it on the ground with the racket. She didn’t do too badly with this. She started to gain confidence. She turned the racket up and tried bouncing the ball in the air with the racket. Not quite as good.

Amy spent at least 20 minutes trying to keep the ball in the air. She got better every time she tried. It was time to practice her serve. After all, this would be what Roger would want, right? Surely he would want someone capable of serving so he could return the ball. She threw the ball up into the air, just as she had seen Roger do and she swung the racket down as hard as she could. MISS! _Damn, missed the ball!_ She tried again. MISS! How did these tennis players do it!? MISS! MISS! MISS!

She stopped and took a breath. Perhaps she should try a different approach. She decided to bounce the ball on the ground and try and hit it as it bounced back up. HIT! But not very well. It didn’t get over the net. Amy went to collect the ball and returned to the baseline. She set her feet firmly on the ground, shoulder width apart. She gripped the tennis racket and went to bounce the ball, but stopped when she felt a hand wrap itself around hers. Roger was stood right behind her. He looked into her eyes. Amy looked back. He was intoxicating. His smell, his presence…everything about him. Is this how he won everything? Did he just charm the pants off everyone? _Say something Amy!_

“Is everything ok with Mr Djokovic?”   
  
“He was very interested in you” Amy flushed. Roger’s hand was still on hers, wrapped around the handle of the tennis racket. “Your grip should be looser” started Roger “like this…” Roger slid his long fingers slowly between Amy’s to separate them. Amy felt the bottom of her stomach drop. _Oh my God_ , she thought, _Roger Federer is caressing me!_ Her heart was beating fast. Her breathing got faster and shallower.   
  
“Show me more” she breathed. Roger listened to her words for a moment and regarded her.   
  
“Your feet should be spread wider”. He moved his feet so they were inside of Amy’s and pushed them out. His legs felt firm between hers. Amy let him invade her space. At this point, Federer was so close that she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. Deep down, she stirred, an animal inside of her had awakened. “Bend over slightly” Federer continued. Roger bent her over from behind. With his other hand, he took her left hand and threw it up into the air. “Feel the stretch within the arm. You should aim to keep your fingers as straight as possible”. More of that sensual Swiss accent washed over Amy. Her knees were weak. Behind her, Federer had begun breathing more deeply. Amy let Federer stretch out her fingers one at a time. “Like this…” Like a puppet, he moved her hands and feet with deliberate and controlling movements. He threw her left hand up and quickly swung down her racket, his hand still clasped firmly around hers.

Amy turned her head. She looked into his eyes, and then down to his lips. They were parted and moist. Roger was also looking at Amy’s lips. Roger produced a ball from his pocket and placed it into Amy’s left hand. “We’re going to try it my way…” He pressed himself firmly against her, he threw her hand up into the air and she let go of the ball. Without thinking, her right arm came down like dynamite to blow the ball out of the court. At that moment, Federer let out an almost inaudible moan, and Amy felt something press into her behind. His grip on her hand tightened and his eyes closed. “Good girl…well done” he breathed.

Amy was driven by only instinct. She bent her knees a little more to press her behind into him. His crotch was a warm and comfortable place to be. Did she really feel something there? As soon as she felt it again, Federer released his grip on her hands and stepped away. _Fuck! No!_ Amy turned around and stared at Federer, who had turned his back to her. His head turned downwards and his hands on his hips. For what seemed like minutes, they both stood. Federer with his back to Amy and Amy staring at Federer’s back.

Eventually, Amy made a small step forward, but before she could do anything else, Federer had turned his head and said “Good start, we’ll try again soon.” And with that, he was walking back up to the house. Amy was too dumbstruck to move. So many things swirled around in her head. _Was that what I thought it was in my behind? If so, does that mean he’s not gay? If he’s celibate, why would he deny himself sex? Did I arouse him?_ Then another thought came to mind… _was it the shot?_


	3. The Dreams Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy starts to see Roger in her dreams.

_I’m cheering in the crowds at Wimbledon. Roger Federer has just won the championship. Tears pour from my eyes as I embrace my family. Around me, others are doing the same. I rush down from my seat and push past everybody. People let me through quite easily, which is odd. I run around looking for the way into the changing rooms. I’m going to meet Roger Federer there. No one tries to stop me. Why? I continue on my mission, and even stop to ask where the changing rooms are. People tell me. I follow their instructions and come to a door. I open it and inside is Roger Federer alone. He looks up at me but doesn’t look surprised at my presence. He has been crying, like me. His cheeks are sticky with tears, like mine. I walk over to where he is sat on the bench and I wrap my arms around him. He reciprocates, despite me being a total stranger. He mumbles something inaudible into my shoulder – it could be Swiss –German. I take his face in my hands and he allows me to stroke his cheeks. I then lick his salty tears from his skin. This brings on a new wave of tears from him. He is beautiful when he cries._

Amy woke from her dream. She had had it before. It wasn’t one of her favourites. In the dream she liked to see The Fed cry. In real life, she wasn’t sure she could say the same.

Yesterday had been surreal. Had anyone had a tennis lesson from Roger Federer quite like that? Amy wondered. There was a buzz from her phone. It was Roger. “Hello?” 

“Amy, could you come into the office please, there are some things that I would like you to do” His tone was icy. Not even the smallest indication that anything happened yesterday.

Amy agreed and put down the phone, but it gave her an idea. Djokovic.

It was common knowledge that no one knew Roger Federer better than Novak Djokovic. _Better do it later,_ thought Amy. She stretched her arms above her head and found that her muscles were tired and achy. She no longer felt where Roger had touched her yesterday. _Oh well, I could have imagined it after all._

Today was her first real day as his assistant. She wanted to look the part, so she chose her best outfit – a blue skirt suit that showed major skin. She also donned a push-up bra and striking red lipstick. She fixed her hair in right ringlets. She gave herself a flirty wink in the mirror and headed down to Roger’s study.

On the stairs, Amy passed the maid. She was a middle aged woman with blonde shoulder length hair and thin lips. She was also very thin. She gave Amy a polite nod on the way past and Amy scoffed. _She’s probably lusted after Roger_ , she thought. _She’s way too old for him._ She wanted to please him today, so once again, in true Amy Greene fashion, she flicked her locks over her shoulder and bit down on her bottom lip to plump it up.

She knocked on the door to the study and entered without waiting for an answer. Roger was sat at his desk looking intently at his laptop, his brows furrowed. He looked up when he heard Amy enter and his expression changed from that of concern to one of unease. Amy held her hands gracefully in front of her and looked his straight in the eye. She wondered whether he had even thought about yesterday evening. What was going through his head? He was known for being infallible on the court. He was clearly the same off the court too.

“How can I help you Mr Federer?” 

“I am heading to Malawi tomorrow. I need you to accompany me.” He was strong and direct. His voice gave not even the slightest hint of reason. 

“Of course, Mr Federer. Would you like me to pack for you?” Roger studied Amy briefly, and then quietly replied. 

“I would very much appreciate that Miss Greene, thank you” Amy turned to leave but before she reached the door, her boss quickly added “…bring the tennis rackets”. She turned her head to look at Roger. He was giving her an unusual look from under his dark eyes. He wasn’t smiling, but some of his seriousness had ebbed away. 

“One question, Mr Federer…” Roger raised his eyebrows in anticipation. “…will Mr Djokovic be joining you in Malawi?” _Wrong thing to say!_ Roger frowned and immediately turned his attention back to his laptop. After what seemed an eternity to Amy, he replied. 

“No.”

Amy left the room and headed towards Federer’s bedroom. From underneath the bed she pulled a suitcase and began pottering around the room, adding bits and pieces from Roger’s wardrobe. She packed his shaving kit and the tennis rackets. She then crept over to the bedside table. She glanced a look over her shoulder to see that no one was around, and then took the condoms from the drawer. The first thing she did was toss them into the suitcase, but then she thought… _if he opens the suitcase and sees them, what will he think?_ She picked the box back up and pocketed them.

All this time, she had been wondering how to get a hold of Djokovic’s number. It would be on his phone, but would it be anywhere else? She needed to get into his study or get hold of his phone!

She finished up the packing and took the suitcase down to the front door. “All done, Mr Federer!” she called through the house. From somewhere in another room came a response from Roger… 

“Thank you!” She sat on the sofa and kept her eye on the study. She waited. She waited. She waited. Finally, she watched Federer come out of his study. When he saw her on the sofa, he gave her a nod, but nothing else. He made towards the bathroom. This was it! Amy stood up quickly and ran over to the study door and edged her way in.

On top of the beautiful glass desk sat Roger’s phone. She picked it up with trembling hands and was relieved and surprised to find that there was no passcode on it. With nimble fingers she scrolled through the contacts and found Djokovic’s number. _Yes!_ She scribbled the number down on a piece of paper nearby and was just about to leave when she had another thought. _What about Nadal?_ He was also allegedly a good friend to Roger. But did he have Nadal’s number? She scrolled further down the contacts. There he was! She added that number to her paper. _Brilliant_ , she thought.

Just then, a message came through to the phone.

_Novak: Good luck mate!_

Her interest was aroused. _Does Novak know about the trip to Malawi?_ She had never been deceitful before, but this was Roger Federer! She was desperate to know him better. She opened up the messages and scrolled through the conversation.

 

_Been juicing for weeks. Feel much better thanks._

_Nice one Rog! You gonna get urself a little hottie to help u out?_

_I don’t have time to look through applications._

_Not gud enuf! I’ll pick one out for u!_

_Feel free!_

Oh no. So that was it. Roger hadn’t picked her at all! Djokovic had selected her. _To be honest_ , she thought, _of course Djokovic would pick someone like me._ Djokovic was a known flirt – not quite a womaniser, but didn’t quite rate tennis over women. Amy had even heard that there was once a plan to release a naked woman onto the court at Wimbledon knowing that Djokovic would immediately drop his racquet, allowing Federer to gain an advantage over him. Roger allegedly refused to allow it to happen. Amy felt her heart sink. Did he have any interest in her at all? She continued to scroll.

 

_Ur assistant is hot! Nice one! You gettin in there?_

_Behave_

_Just sayin you need to get laid mate!_

_Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind_

Good old Federer! Not fazed by anything! Amy had had enough. She returned the phone and left the study.

Roger had left the house on an errand according to his maid, so Amy took the opportunity to phone djokovic.

“Hello?” 

“Hi, Mr Djokovic? It’s Amy Greene, we met yesterday at Mr Federer’s house” 

“Brilliant! Please tell me you’re shagging his fucking brains out?” Amy caught her breath. _What?! Is this what I was hired to do?_ Amy had always liked Federer, had always admired him, and yes, sometimes found him a very sexual male, but in no way had she applied for the job to sleep with him! 

“No, Mr Djokovic. I’m not shagging Mr Federer. In fact, I haven’t really spoken to him much.” 

“That’s a shame. He needs to release some of the juice. He’s frustrated Miss Greene, and as much as I admire the man, I’m not going to suck on his Wilson Wand” Amy suddenly felt a jolt in her stomach. Talking about Roger in this way was doing things to her – strange things. 

“Actually, Mr Djokovic…” 

“Call me Novak”

“Actually, Novak, I was hoping I could talk to you about a similar subject.” Djokovic gave a chuckle. 

“Please do, Miss Greene” Amy readied herself. How could she say this? 

“I would like some…background information about Mr, Federer in order to…better serve him.” Another chuckle from Djokovic. 

“I hope that what you mean by that is that you want to know whether he prefers missionary or doggy style” 

“Not quite Novak. I’m going to be in Malawi with him tomorrow. Can I call you if I need you?” 

“Of course, Miss Greene. Take care of him”

And with that, she hung up the phone.

For the rest of the day, she packed her own things ready for the trip to Malawi. Roger returned in the early evening and came straight to her in her room. “Get your gear on please, Miss Greene. You and I are hitting the court” Amy smiled at him. She was genuinely please to be asked back to play tennis. Despite her aching limbs, she had enjoyed the very quick master class with Roger yesterday. Roger was clearly very eager. He was light on his feet, stepping softly from foot to foot. His racket was already in his tanned hands and it was twirling silently between deft fingers.

15 minutes later, and both Amy and Roger were out on court. Roger had asked Amy to stand on the other side of the net. Amy, once again did as she was told. She looked Roger straight in the eye, who returned the stare. Once again, Amy saw the very faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips, just at the corner of his mouth. Amy grinned from ear to ear. She was starting to understand. 

“Serve Miss Greene, just keep it above the belt”


	4. The Dreams Continue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger and Amy board the plane to Malawi where Amy dreams once again of her boss.

The next morning, Amy was awoken by a buzzing on her phone. She turned groggily over to see where the noise had come from. It was from Roger.

_Leaving in 30 minutes._

What time was it? 5:30am? Why was Roger asking her to leave? Then it struck her. Malawi! She quickly dressed in another skirt suit, put a very light layer of make up on and then tied her hair up in a loose pony tail.

When she got to the front door, Roger was waiting for her. He was dressed in brown jeans and a loose fitting, long-sleeved blue top. His hands were in his pockets and he was looking at his feet until he heard Amy. He looked towards her, sighed and shook his head. “Please, Miss Greene, I don’t expect you to be dressed like that for every occasion. You may find it more comfortable to wear something more casual”. An odd comment to make. _Doesn’t he want me to look beautiful?_ Thought Amy.

After donning a pair of boot cut jeans and a t-shirt, she caught up with Roger who lead her to his car. In silence they drove to the airport where Roger bought her breakfast and they boarded the private jet.

Roger headed to the back of the plane, towards the bathroom. “Excuse me Miss Greene. I’ve had lots of coffee this morning”

Amy used this time to get out her phone and text Djokovic.

_Just boarding the plane to Malawi. I have something I need to tell you._

She twiddled her thumbs for what seemed like hours, waiting for a reply. Roger returned from the bathroom, gave her a weak smile and took a seat opposite her.

“I don’t like being cooped up” he said.  
  
“Why don’t you try sleeping, Mr Federer.”  
  
“That’s a good idea. You can call me Roger”

After a few minutes, Roger’s eyes had closed and he had drifted into a soft sleep. Amy only then realised just how calm he made her feel. She watched his chest rise and fall gently as he breathed. He had styled his hair so that it looked slightly shorter than usual. His skin was smooth looking, not a mark on it. His hands were rested upon his leg casually. Just looking at him made Amy feel calm and sleepy and she had gotten bored of waiting for Djokovic’s reply, so she too closed her eyes. For a little while, she concentrated on the noise of Roger’s breathing. She could feel that he barely moved when he slept. He was extremely comforting to her, especially when she had been thrown into an entirely new world, and brand new line of work with people that the whole world seemed to know, yet no one seemed to know.

_Roger Federer sits on the bench in the changing room at Wimbledon. He has just won the championship. I am so proud of him, as is the rest of the world. We have both gotten emotional, both of us have shed tears. After seeing to his tears, I slowly rise and wrap my legs around his waist so that I am sitting in his lap. He does not argue, he just looks deeply into my eyes. I run my fingers through his hair. Strand of his locks cascade over my fingers like feathers. As I do this, he closes his eyes, his lips part and he lets out a moan. He likes this. As I get closer to him, I can feel his heart beating faster. I continue to play with his hair and become firmer with my fingertips, at which point he allows his head to drop so that his face is nuzzled between my breasts. I feel his warm breath against my skin and I lower my head to plant a kiss into his hair._

Amy awoke to the feel of a vibration in her pocket. She looked across to the seat opposite her. Roger was still asleep. The sun was beginning to rise, shining golden daylight on his face. He had changed position, or rather fallen into that position. His legs were resting on Amy’s, his mouth was slightly open and one hand was on his forehead. Amy guessed she should be happy that he was not snoring. The physical contact between them was nice, she thought, and it reminded her of the other night. She put her hand on his leg in a reassuring gesture. Perhaps he’d feel it in his sleep.

Without waking Federer, she removed her phone from her pocket. It was Djokovic.

_U did it didn’t u!_

Amy replied, and the conversation unfolded, the only interruption being Roger’s slight movements.

_If you mean sleep with Roger, no I didn’t and I don’t think I will_

_What a shame! What is it u need to tell me?_

_OK well, you must promise not to judge him. I’m not even sure this happened._

_Go on…_

_The other day, Roger was helping me improve my posture in tennis. He was behind me and when I hit the ball, he kind of…_

_…kind of what?_

_I think he get’s turned on by tennis!_

_Hahaha! Wat makes u think that?_

_I felt…something…behind me after my serve._

_That’s just pent up sexual frustration honey. I’m tellin you, he needs to release it, or he is gonna b havin a lot more hard ons._

_You sure?_

_Sweetie, The Fed is an awesome guy. He luvs his tennis! But he isn’t erotically turned on by it. Trust me._

_Thanks Novak_

_No problem, take care and enjoy Malawi_

Amy didn’t know what to make of the conversation. She’d felt sure that there was something there. Maybe there had just been something in his pocket. Damn! She felt like a fool!

What had she been thinking about before she woke up? That was it! Roger’s luscious locks in her hands. She wondered whether she should be feeling this way about her boss and promptly moved her hand off of his leg…but then allowed herself to feel affectionate towards him. The poor man had endured enough trials recently. The pressure of maintaining the expectation of remaining Tennis Number one whilst splitting from your wife and the mother of your four children very publicly. Maybe Djokovic was right. Maybe he needed more than a hand on the leg. Maybe he needed some true TLC. Someone to sit in his lap and play with his hair, someone that would succumb to his charm and give him what he needed.

_I can do that_ , thought Amy. Satisfied with her realisation, she closed her eyes once again and fell into a deep and relaxing sleep.


	5. Malawi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy get's to see Roger's more sensitive side as she accompanies him on his work for his foundation. She tries to make a move.

They touched down in Malawi. As Roger disembarked the plane, he was hounded by photographers. They scuttled around him like rats. He walked calmly through them and spoke briefly to a couple. Amy followed out of the plane and down the steps. At the bottom, a microphone was thrust into her face. The person behind the microphone shouted out some words that she didn’t quite understand. _Is that what Roger has to put up with all the time_? She thought. She could see Roger ahead of her turn around and walk back in her direction. He took hold of her hand and led her through the crowds. “Don’t speak with her, please” he told the photographers.

Once in the terminal, someone came to escort both Roger and Amy through the airport. Fans had waited to greet him and screamed his name as he walked through. Amy couldn’t believe the noise deafening her ears. The outstretched arms of girls clawed at her as she brushed past them. She looked ahead to see Federer smiling and waving. He stopped to sign a few autographs and take some photos. Amy waited for him. She hadn’t really imagined his life being like this. _He’s like a movie star,_ she thought.

After clambering into the back of a taxi, Amy realised she had been holding her breath the whole time. She gazed out of the window at the commotion that she had come through and let out a sigh. Roger have her a small nudge. “You okay?” he said with a small smile. Amy turned and looked at him. Today was the first time she had looked so closely at his face without it having been in an awkward situation, such as the one the other night with the alleged hard on. His eyes were truly beautiful. Deep and dark, his skin was perfectly olive and clean shaven. He had such a calming aura about him that Amy just wanted to fall against him and let his body swallow her up.

“Is this your life? Do you get this where ever you go?” Roger raised his eyebrows and nodded.

“Yeah, but it’s ok”. He smiled slightly and chuckled. His swiss accent was much clearer when he was on his own.

“Yeah, but…don’t you feel like they’re going to attack you?!”

“Ha!” Roger threw his head back with laughter and his eyes squinted happily. “Sometimes! But you know there’s no danger really!”  


Amy decided to steer the conversation in another direction. “Roger, what is it you would like me to do on this trip?”

“You’re here to look after me whilst I visit the children in the school. I need to know where to go and when and I will also need pictures taken. Can you do that?” Amy nodded.

An hour later, they came to a narrow lane. Amy could hear calling and cheering but couldn’t tell where the noise was coming from. Roger tapped her on the shoulder and pointed through the windscreen. Amy followed his finger and her mouth fell open. In the distance she could see a crowd of people, quite unlike the crowd she had seen in the airport. These people were smaller, they were children. They were smiling, happy and joyful. She saw them clapping their hands and as they drew closer, she could hear them singing. There must have been hundreds of them, all gathered around a small, wooden building.

Amy looked at Roger and saw him beaming from ear to ear. His hands were wrapped around the edge of his seat and he gripped it tightly with excitement. He briefly looked at Amy, acknowledged her shock and turned back towards the children.

“I opened this school” he said. “I started the Roger Federer foundation some years ago to ensure all children were able to learn. This was the first school we opened” Amy looked again to the children. They were well dressed and clean. They looked so happy to see the car driving up their road.

Roger was so keen to greet them that the moment the car stopped, he jumped out and into the awaiting arms of the children. Amy clambered out slowly after him and quickly reached for her camera. She pressed the record button to capture the moment.

It was the most beautiful sight she had seen. The children had run up to Federer and thrown their arms around him. They felt his trousers and the edge of his top. Many pointed to his shoes and touched them. Roger had picked one up and held her on his arm. This young girl was playing with his hair, which he didn’t seem to mind at all. Those that couldn’t reach him held their arms out to him, and their eyes never left him. Roger made his way slowly through them, trying to make sure that he saw each child. He would ruffle their hair, touch their cheek and play with them affectionately. The whole time she had been watching, the children had been calling, chanting really, the same few words over and over again. Amy couldn’t make them out, so she asked someone nearby.

“They’re calling him ‘Father Roger’.” _I wonder how many people see him in this light_ , she thought.

They went inside the school, where they ate, learned and played with the children. The conditions were good. The children all had somewhere to sit and write. There were blackboards and teachers and hot meals. There were bathroom facilities and running water. Amy was astonished at how much Roger had achieved off court.

Later that day, Roger and Amy were taken to visit a family. On the journey, Roger hadn’t said anything and his face looked quite solemn. When they arrived, she could understand why. The car stopped outside a small mud hut. In front of it, there was a child, naked, picking at the ground. Roger slowly got out and walked over to the child. He crouched down beside him and said hello. The child looked hungrily into his eyes. Roger stayed still for a minute, watching the child. The child moved his gaze from Roger’s eyes to his arms. He reached out and touched them, and upon feeling the thick, soft hair, he proceeded to stroke Roger’s arm repeatedly. A smile spread across his face. Amy couldn’t help but laugh and enjoy the moment. Roger looked up to Amy.

“They don’t see many men” he explained. He returned his focus to the child, who had begun to pull on his locks of hair.

“Where are they all?” asked Amy, who agreed that she hadn’t seen any men since she arrived at the school.

“Most of them leave. They get the women pregnant and they go somewhere else. Some of them die.” Amy didn’t need to respond. She could see it was a sore topic for Federer, who had started to lightly tickle the boy. “Where’s your Mummy?” he asked. The boy pointed his finger inside of the mud hut.

Roger looked back at Amy and offered her his hand. She took it without hesitation and allowed him to guide her into the hut through the small opening at the front. Inside, she immediately felt cramped. It was cooler than outside, but the floor was wet, the walls were cracked. At the side of the hut, there lay a woman. She barely noticed them enter. Roger shuffled over to her. He wasn’t able to stand inside, being 6’1”. Amy could hear her ragged breathing. Her chest moved up and down so slowly that it wouldn’t have been noticed unless Roger had pointed it out.

Her eyes were sticky and glazed over. She was almost a corpse. Just then, the child from outside wandered in. Amy and Roger moved out of its way so that it could reach the woman. The child pulled at the woman’s top to expose her breast, or what should have been her breast. Amy could see that the woman had nothing to give the child. The child nonetheless, tried to suckle. He began to cry as he realised that there was nothing there. His lips were so dry.

Roger then pulled a carton of juice from his back pocket, put a straw in and gave it to the child. The boy didn’t understand at first, but then Roger placed the straw into the boys mouth. The boy sucked, and sucked and sucked until the juice carton was empty.

“This woman will be dead soon. Her child will not live without her.” Amy knew this was coming. She knew from the way the woman hardly reacted to her child that she was deathly ill. She also knew that the child was still completely dependent upon her. Roger explained how his foundation aimed to prevent these tragedies. Amy listened and wiped the brow of the woman with cool water.

Before they left, the woman opened her eyes a little and looked into Roger’s. “Father Roger” she croaked. Roger took her bony hand in his, held it closely to his chest and smiled at her. With her other hand, she reached up to touch his face. He leaned in and gave her a soft kiss on the forehead. With a final squeeze of her hand, Amy and Roger left the hut.

It was dark outside. They clambered into the car and sighed. For the whole journey back to where they were staying, they were silent. Amy wondered where they would be staying that night. Roger had enough to put them up at a fancy hotel. She could have done with some comfort.

Sometime later, the car stopped. All Amy could see outside of her window was a campfire. _NO!_ She thought. _I can’t camp!_ No curlers! No straighteners! No mirror for make up! What on earth was she going to do?

Luckily for her, the tents had already been erected, one for her and one for Roger. They took their things and sat down by the fire.

Roger stared into the fire for minutes, not once tearing his gaze away from the crackling flames. Amy studied him. What was he thinking about? She decided that she wanted to go to bed. It had been a very long day. She clambered into the tent, opened her suitcase and pulled out her silk nightgown. _Hmmm_ , she thought, _I’m not sure how comfortable I’ll be in this._

When she exited the tent to say goodnight, Roger immediately looked up at her. His eyes were wide, his mouth open. His hands that were rested on his legs clenched into fists. “You won’t be comfortable in that” Amy remembered her promise to herself to satisfy Roger’s needs. She remembered what Djokovic had said to her. She dropped her shoulders deliberately so that one of the straps of her gown slipped down her arm. Amy could see Roger’s fists tightening. His knuckles whitened.

“Perhaps, Mr Federer…you could help me out of it” Roger’s jaw dropped. Amy grinned inside. She _knew_ she could do it! Ask she walked over to him, she watched his chest undulate quickly with rapid breaths. His eyes tracked her, getting ever wider. “Maybe you would prefer the privacy of the tent.” Amy turned to point at the tent behind her. When she turned her head back, she saw Roger’s hand move from his crotch to his head. He was now resting his elbows on his knees and his head was in his hands. He turned away from Amy, clearly trying to hide the front of himself. The mighty Federer was not impervious to women! Amy knew what was going on, but she didn’t feel about it the way she thought she would. She thought she would see it as a victory. But this was no victory. All she saw was a man desperate to guard his feelings, fighting against his uncontrollable instincts.

“Please…go into my tent…borrow some of my things to sleep in…”

Amy obliged. She turned around and walked away, knowing full well what he would be doing when she wasn’t looking. Inside his tent, she found a Nike top and some shorts. She pulled them on, and let her hair down so it was loose. She actually felt very comfortable. She gave Roger some time before leaving the tent.

“Much better” he said when she came out. Amy wasn’t sure if he was referring to her or himself.

“Thank you, Sir”. Roger nodded, and then turned his attention back to the fire. “I’m so sorry, Mr Federer…I…don’t know what came over me. It must be the heat here or something”.

Roger shrugged. “Don’t worry, Miss Greene. It’s not the first time it’s happened”.

Having broken the tension, Amy sat by the fire with him and asked him something that had been playing on her mind.

“Mr Federer, is there something wrong?” Roger bowed his head for a moment and then looked up to the fire once more.

“I miss my kids, Amy. I see the children here suffering…and it just makes me want to see them again”.

Right! That was it! She knew what she was going to do. She was going to do exactly what Djokovic had said – she was going to satisfy his needs. She was going to do it by getting his kids over.

“Goodnight, Miss Green”

“Goodnight, Sir”

Roger returned to his tent, and Amy realised that she had been holding in a pee since the airport. Where on earth was she going to go? She looked around a spotted some bushes a short distance away, so she headed out to them, keeping a close eye on the ground to make sure there was nothing that would surprise her. She took one brief glance back to Roger’s tent. There was a light on inside, but otherwise, there were no other signs of wakefulness.

She pulled down her shorts and peed. As she emptied her bladder, she considered ways in which she could arrange a meeting with his two sets of twins. Could she perhaps get in contact with Mirka? Would Djokovic know her number? Or Nadal? Would Mirka even agree? _Four children! Wow. That is one fertile man!_

She finished up and moved away from the bushes. On her way out, she saw Roger come out of his tent and head towards the same bushes. _Shit!_ She quickly ducked behind a nearby tree and watched as he walked purposefully towards the bushes. When he began to put his hand down the front of his shorts, Amy realised what he intentions were and decided that she would rather him have the privacy. She jumped out from behind the tree in such a manner that would stop him before it was too late.

He jumped when he saw her but didn’t remove his hand. “Oh, Miss Greene, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there” Amy tried to make the situation humorous.

“Yes, well, call of nature unfortunately!” she chuckled goofily. Roger smiled.

“Me too”

“Goodnight, Mr Federer”

“Goodnight, Miss Greene”


	6. Roger's Undoing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger loses control after Amy proves herself on the court.

_Things are heating up in the changing room between me and Roger Federer. I sit astride him, he is still in his tennis gear, the sweat from the match drying up, but the salt from the tears of his emotional victory still clings to his cheeks. After making short work of his hair, I reach down to the front of his shorts. I place my hand over his crotch. He still doesn’t protest. His head moves from between my breasts. He looks me in the eye with indifference. He gives nothing away. Dismayed at my apparent failure to impress him, I apply pressure to the palm of my hand to feel the tender contents of his shorts. So far, nothing, so I begin to move my hand in slow circles, varying the pressure I apply. Roger finally succumbs, but it is not a large affair. He closes his eyes, drops his head and buries it in the groove between my neck and my shoulder. As my circles get larger and firmer, he lets out a deep groan and gently bites the soft skin of my collarbone. I begin to feel the contents of his shorts grow and become firm._

Amy woke with a start, Roger had shaken her awake. “We’ve landed in Zurich” Amy clung to the dream as hard as she could. It was a very nice dream. Roger Federer was in it, and she was doing things to him, things that were making him like her. With every passing second, details of the dream ebbed from her memory. Instead of focusing her efforts on catching what felt like water in her fingers, she looked at the real life, flesh and blood Federer that had woken her.

She nodded, yawned and stretched. Roger smirked and began to gather his things to disembark. As he bent over, Amy couldn’t help but notice the perfect shape that his backside formed in front of her. _Mmm, what I would do to that ass,_ thought Amy. “Come on, Miss Greene. You and I are hitting the tennis courts”. He seemed in a good mood. Glad to be back in Zurich perhaps? Either way, Amy was pleased to see that Roger was happy because she had noticed that his mood had a direct effect on her own.

A few hours later and Roger was out on the tennis courts. Amy was still in her room, getting ready for her practice session with him. She put on the two sports bras as per Federer’s instruction, tied her laces and needed to find a top to wear. All of her things were still in the suitcase! _Damn!_ Could she risk using one of Roger’s? She left her room and walked down to his bedroom. She was just about to turn the corner when she was stopped in her tracks by the maid.

Amy tutted and tried to move around her, but the maid stopped her. “Wait, Miss Greene” _How dare she_ , thought Amy. “I know how to help you, child.” She continued. Amy said nothing, after all, how could the maid know of her plans? “I know how to help you with Mr Federer”

Amy blinked. Maybe the maid knew more than she thought. Maybe she could read minds. Or perhaps, this had all happened before! Hadn’t Djokovic mentioned another assistant? 

“I don’t know what you mean” said Amy eventually.

“I think you do, Miss Greene. Mr Federer needs a nice young lady like you.” She put her hand on Amy’s arm tenderly. “He needs a woman’s affection. He needs to be reminded that he’s a man…if you catch my drift” Amy knew where this was going. 

“What should I do?” she asked. 

“Play well” And with that, she walked away, leaving Amy confused and with more questions than answers. Play well? Tennis, obviously…but how will that show affection?

She decided that she’d rather run out of time to consider this any further. Roger was already on the court and she wasn’t even dressed. She ran into Roger’s room, opened a wardrobe and pulled out a navy blue Nike shirt. She pulled it on, tied her hair up and left for the court.

As she entered the court, the sun had started to set. Roger was practicing his serve, something she had always admired…the ‘Federer Serve’. It struck fear into the hearts of hundreds of tennis players and left many admirers in awe. She stood at the side and watched as he elegantly and silently tossed the ball into the air. His arms straightened, his knees bent and then straightened out again as he launched himself into the air to bring his racket into contact with the ball. After that, it was all a blur as the ball came crashing down over the other side of the net.

He had been at it a while, his hair was no longer fluffy, but were more like tendrils, moist with perspiration and humidity. There were small beads of sweat on his forehead.

Amy cleared her throat which got Roger’s attention and then walked to the other side of the net. “Let’s see if you remember how to serve” came Roger’s voice, his beautiful swiss accent like a spring breeze washing over her. Roger threw over a tennis ball for Amy to catch. Once the ball and racket were in her hands, Roger assumed his usual position, his legs spread wide, his knees bent and his back bent forward. His racket twirled in his fingers in anticipation.

In this moment, Amy could see ecstasy radiating from Federer. Though his body language and facial expression were calm, cool and collected, she could feel an excited vibe from him. She could tell that in this moment, he was where he wanted to be, doing what he wanted to be doing. _Best not let him down_ , thought Amy.

Like before, she threw the ball into the air and swung her arm down to bring the racket on a collision course with the ball. It struck at the perfect angle and sent it coursing through the air towards Federer, who cast the ball downwards and to the side of the court.

For a moment he stood, speechless and motionless. Amy knew it had been a good serve. Did he want more? Or was he simply impressed at what she had managed to accomplish? She watched him, and saw that he had taken a deep breath.

“Good. Again” he said finally. Amy picked another ball. This time she walked to the baseline and stood on the right side of the centre line and aimed for the left service box. She had done her research and knew how to serve properly. It was just a case of doing it.

Again, she threw the ball into the air, but this time, she put more effort behind her racket arm so that the ball travelled at high speed to the left service box. It bounced in the box and Federer allowed it to pass him. Again he turned and regarded her for a few seconds. Amy let a small smile curl the corner of her lips. Roger was not smiling. In fact, Amy was sure he was slightly frowning. Again, she saw him take a deep breath before saying “You are learning”

Amy took another ball, threw it high into the air and also threw her body up. She had no idea how high she could get herself! Mid-air, she brought the ball crashing down into the service box so that even Roger missed it.

“Volley, now!” he demanded. He immediately picked up a ball and hit it over to Amy. She returned it. So did he. She hit harder. He hit harder too. Soon, the both of them were running all over the court. Roger had brought his entire toolkit out to play, showcasing his infamous forehand and his one-handed backhand. He sliced and drop-volleyed and lobbed the ball about the court, and Amy dashed around to try and intercept the ball to return it to Federer. She mimicked his every move, finding that there were reasons as to why his form was so artistic.

The volley came close to the net, to the point where the ball didn’t bounce at all. Both Amy and Roger were in a state of deep concentration, all parts of their body were committed to the game. Amy looked across to Federer. He had an unusual look in his eye. One of lust, but it wasn’t directed at Amy. It was then that Amy noticed that Federer’s shorts looked considerably tighter around the front than usual. Could it be? She had to end this. She received the tennis ball and at the next opportunity, lobbed it over Federer’s head. She expected Roger to become angry, but found that the result was quite the opposite.

Roger immediately dropped his racket and allowed it to fall to the floor. He walked intently over to Amy with large, powerful strides. His facial expression did not change, but he never once took his eyes off of her. Amy stood rooted to the spot, frightened of what he might do to her.

Roger took Amy by the shoulders and brought his face to hers so that they were almost nose to nose. _God he smelled good!_ His breathing was rapid and his lips slightly parted. “Tell me…where do you stand to take your first serve?”

“Behind the baseline, Sir…to the right of the centre line” Roger’s eyes closed.

"Yes” he breathed. “And what happens if you gain a point after deuce?” 

“You gain an advantage, Sir” His grip on her shoulders tightened and his head dropped.

“Good” Through gritted teeth he said “And who is the greatest tennis player in the world?”

“Roger Federer”

This response seemed to be Federer’s undoing. Without warning, Federer clasped Amy’s head in his hands and pushed his lips against hers. They were moist and warm. He breathed heavily as he kissed her passionately. His body seemed to lose all control as he clumsily pushed her over to the cage and up against the fence. His body felt heavy and tense as he pressed himself repeatedly against Amy.

Amy’s mouth hung open, allowing the sensual assault to invade her every orifice. She let his scent fill her up and welcomed his tongue in her wanting mouth. Federer firmly took Amy’s arms and restrained them above her head. With this action, her breasts were pushed forward and into his chest. Federer seemed not to notice and instead continued to press his groin into Amy’s. She could feel his erection pressing against her. It stirred up a mixture of feelings from deep inside of her.

Federer moved his hands to her waist which freed Amy’s hands. She ran them through his hair, allowing the curls to flow through her fingers. She pressed firmly with her fingertips and relished in the guttural moan that escaped from Federer’s mouth. She continued, pulling gently on the soft tendrils as if they were reins. Federer threw his head back in ecstasy and moaned again, louder this time. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor. Amy fell with him and landed on top of him.

She allowed the weight of her body to fall into him as he lay on his back. He lay with one knee up with his foot flat on the ground, the other lay straight and parallel to the ground. His hands still firmly lay on Amy’s hips. His head lolled around, his eyes still closed. Amy sat up and astride him. She pressed herself down into his groin so that his erection rubbed against her. He let out a loud groan which echoed around and persisted as she rocked backwards and forwards against him. The friction of his shorts felt good against him.

Roger quickly rolled Amy over onto her back and he lay on top of her. He hung his head over her shoulder and with long, slow grinds, he pressed himself against her, over and over. Each push was accompanied by a strangled moan and heavy breathing. Amy could feel Federer getting harder by the second and it turned her on massively. His pace increased, until he was grinding himself against her in short sharp bursts. Amy decided to help him out and so she gently moved her hand to the band of his shorts. Just as she had started to slip her hand into his shorts, he stopped and grabbed her hand with his. He looked quickly from her to where her hand was. The breathing ceased, so did the moans. His hair had fallen over his eyes.

He appeared to come out of a trance as he slowly got to his feet. He stared at the ground with his hands on his hips, his intense impulses still evident at the front of his shorts. Amy propped herself up on her elbows. Almost a minute passed and nothing had been said. Finally, Amy found her voice. “Sir…?” Federer brushed his hands over his face and turned his body away from Amy, hiding any evidence of his passionate intentions. “I’m sorry, Miss Greene”

And with that, he left the court.

Amy lay still on the ground, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Roger Federer, the greatest player of all time, had just…what?....assaulted her? Wooed her? Dry humped her? Whatever it was, it was the most erotic moment she had ever experienced. She could still feel his soft lips on hers, his tongue playing in her mouth, his erect penis pressed against her stomach, the weight of his body on hers.

She considered his motivations and quickly arrived at the conclusion that he had been sex starved for a long time. It all added up. Djokovic said it, his maid said it, he had no wife around and the way he had been grinding up against her still with his clothes on seemed like desperation. He was so desperate for physical affection and sexual release that he couldn’t control his urges.

This brought her to another thought. He hadn’t released, had he? Amy knew that this could exacerbate the situation. Delayed gratification was all well and good, but if there was no release at the end, things could get worse. Roger Federer needed to climax, but he didn’t.

What should she do?

She pulled her phone from her pocket to text Djokovic.

_Hi Novak, I’ve just had a strange experience with Fed. He started kissing me and grinding up against me. He IS turned on by tennis!_

_Bravo Miss Greene! U finally got The Fed to deliver express!_

_We didn’t have sex. He just rubbed up against me_

_Wat? That’s weird. Did u jerk him off?_

_No_

_Did u suck him?_

_No, I told you that he just rubbed against me. He had a hard on and was enjoying the grinding and then he just stopped._

_Wait, u sayin he hasn’t cum?_

_No, nothing. I don’t know what to do. Should I just leave him to it?_

_No, I think he’s one of the players known for not masturbating. You need to sort him out._

_Okies, ta Novak_

_Listen hun, good luck. He really needs you. I’ll text you in the morning. X_

_Until then. X_

It seemed she would be sleeping with Roger Federer after all. Amy stood up, brushed herself off, straightened her outfit and started to walk back up to the house.

 

 


	7. Here Comes Roger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After throwing himself at Amy , Roger has retreated to the house. Acting on advice from Djokovic, Amy goes in search of him to try and end his misery.

On her way back up to the house, it had started to rain. She welcomed the cold drops on her face. It brought things into perspective. Yes, she was still going to find him. Yes, she was still going to fuck him. But this renewed mind set allowed her the perspective to understand exactly why she was doing it. By the time she had reached the large, glass French doors at the back of the house, her clothes were sopping. Each inch of fabric clung to her skin uncomfortably and her hair dripped large drops down her neck.

When she re-entered the house, all of the lights were off. There was a lonely feel to her surroundings. Mrs White, the maid, had clearly left. It was past her contracted hours after all. But also, there seemed to be no life around her at all. No lamps were on, no TVs, no computers. The eerie silence made Amy want to turn around and head back to the tennis courts where the floodlighting was warm and safe. She could see why Federer liked it there so much.

She took a small step forward. The sound of her footfall bounced off the walls and made her still for a moment. She grimaced and clenched her teeth around her lips as if her breathing would give away her position. Was she even still wanted at his house? She fumbled her way over to a lamp and switched it on.

The warm white light pooled over the living room and allowed her to see the perfectly aligned sofas and chairs with their well-arranged cushions. On one of the sofas lay Roger’s racket. It had been left at a careless angle, dangling precariously close to the edge. It was clear that it had been dropped and left without a second thought. She walked over to it and took the grip in her hand. It was still warm. _He must still be here_ , she thought.

She put her racket next to Roger’s on the sofa and turned towards his bedroom. She wound her way through the hallways and rounded the corner before Roger’s room. A faint light could be seen through the gap between the door and the floor, but she couldn’t hear a sound from the other side. It was no use trying to make herself look sexy for him now. She was just going to get in there, get on him, get him to get in her and then be done with it.

She knocked. No reply. “Sir?” No reply. “Mr Federer?” No reply.

She tentatively opened the door. Roger lay on the bed, on his back. He was still in his tennis gear. His hands rested on his abdomen. The gentle lamp light made his dark eyes almost impossible to see. His hair was wet from the rain and clung in strands to his forehead. He was the picture of solitude. His expressionless face somehow conveyed isolation and longing.

When he heard Amy enter, he turned his head to look at her. Amy stood still and said nothing. She was beginning to learn the value of silence and also knew how to read a face that gave nothing away, for Roger Federer was the best poker player in the industry. No one could read that man. She saw the sadness in his eyes, the desperation. It was no longer a physical desperation. More a distraction of the soul. He was confused, upset, angry…lost.

After a few long seconds, he turned his gaze back to the ceiling. It was there that he lost himself. There was no focus in his eyes, only the need to wane and bury himself in seclusion. Amy could understand the feeling, but she worried about Roger. She saw first-hand how deeply he cared for formalities. This evening, he crossed his line. He would be angry with himself. The anger of Federer was never aggressive. It rumbled like a gentle storm rather than the crashing of a wave.

She glanced at the clock on the wall which read 22:07. Without so much as a word, she walked over to the bed. Roger tracked her until she came within a few feet, at which point he sat up defensively, like a rabbit about to run for its life. He instinctively moved across the bed away from her but stared at her attentively.

Amy perched on the edge of the bed. Roger blinked. His lips were closed and pouty. The dim light of the room accentuated his cheekbones and was briefly reflected in his chocolate eyes. _Hair_ , thought Amy.

Without any sudden movements, Amy raised her hand and slowly reached out to brush the soggy strands of hair from Roger’s face. Roger moved his stare from Amy’s face to her hand. He watched it as it came closer to him, but he didn’t move. Her fingertips stroked the damp skin on Roger’s forehead, brushed the sodden tendrils from his face and raked through his thick tresses which were cold and wet with rain. His eyes rolled upwards and closed. His lips parted slightly to allow a breath to escape. Amy withdrew her hand to allow Roger to acclimatise, and sure enough, he soon opened his eyes again. When he did, his pupils were wildly dilated, his mouth slightly open.

“Mr Federer…I think….I think we can help each other” began Amy. She had never seen a more deserving face than that which gazed back at her. He was the very picture of confusion, as if he had suddenly found himself in a world where good deeds were all false deeds, and therefore not to be trusted.

“I don’t understand…” She took his hand in hers. They were cool and steady. She pressed her fingertips to his wrist and felt his pulsing beats beneath the surface of his skin. They were fast enough for Amy to know that he was anticipating her next move.

She withdrew from the bed and as she did, Roger watched her closely. His eyes never left hers and they were wide and fixed. Slowly, she clasped the bottom of the Nike top that she took from Roger’s room which was now soaking wet. She steadily pulled the top over her head and tossed it to the corner of the room. Roger gaped at the action.

Without a word, Amy then removed the Nike bottoms, her trainers and socks. Roger’s mouth hung open as he watched her undress. Amy felt no self-consciousness. In fact, she _wanted_ Roger to see her this way. She removed one sports bra. Given his instructions, Roger knew that there was only material between him and Amy’s naked body. Amy knew it too.

She hooked her thumbs underneath the thick straps of the second damp sports bra and pulled. Her breasts fell out and Roger took a quick breath before swallowing and shifting uncomfortably where he sat.

She walked back over to the bed, climbed on and swung her legs over Roger. She gently pushed on his chest, indicating for him to fall backwards, which he did. His head hit the pillows but he raised it again to watch her stroke the soft hairs on his legs. She smiled as she made small circles with her finger.

It was at this point that Roger cleared his throat. With her finger still caressing his downy shins, she gradually lifted her head to look at Roger. He looked from her finger to her face and raised a questioning eyebrow. “Your legs need looking after, Sir” Roger said nothing.

Amy flattened her hands and rubbed her palms up Roger’s legs from his ankles upwards past his knees and further. His shorts were loose enough that she was able to continue upwards and rub his thighs. Roger’s body shuddered at the touch of her fingers kneading intimate parts of him. “Miss Greene…” he started, but his sentence was cut short by a moan, for Amy unknowingly had brushed her hands against his cock. It twitched in response and Roger’s stomach did a nose dive.

Amy withdrew her hands and leaned her whole body over his. She slipped an arm up the front of his top. Roger’s breathing was short and shallow. His chest raised and fell quickly. His lips were slightly parted, his brow furrowed but he continued to watch her. Her fingers were so welcome on his untouched skin. It was the first intimacy he had had in so long. He allowed himself to savour the moment. He sat bolt upright, giving Amy a fright. For a moment, he held her in his lap. She sat so that her breasts were level with his shoulders. Their eyes fixed on each other for a moment.

Amy felt so safe in Roger’s embrace. His arms and legs were long enough that he could wrap them around her and shield her from the cruel and unrelenting outside world. His lap was warm and inviting. She brought her face nose to nose with Roger’s and allowed herself to be lost in his gaze. His eyes, so deep and dark…what were they seeing? His lips, perfectly sculpted and moist…what did they want? His hair, she could just lose herself in his hair. She ran her hands through it once more. Roger’s eyes closed and he let out a breath. Underneath her, Amy could feel something move through his shorts.

This was what she wanted. This was where she wanted to be. She enjoyed the satisfaction she brought to him. Once again she took his hands and she brought them up and placed them on her breasts. Roger opened his eyes, surprised by the feel of something tender and soft beneath his hands. Gently, he ran his fingertips over her pale skin. “Mmmm, Yes Roger!” she called out. Her smile split into a satisfied grin. At the sound of his name, his cock twitched again and Amy felt the stiffness beneath her.

Amy quickly grabbed the bottom of his top and tugged it upwards and over his head to expose his chest. It was solid and tanned with soft, dark hair. She placed a flat hand over his heart and felt it beating wildly. His skin was warm to the touch and was beginning to get damp with sweat. Her fingertips slid down his chest, over his stomach and beneath the waistband of his shorts. Roger’s mouth hung open, waiting for an explanation, waiting for her tongue to fill his mouth, waiting for a reason as to why his body was being handled in this manner.

Between her legs, Amy could feel the reassuring pressure of Roger’s erection straining against his shorts. She kept her fingers in the waistband of his shorts, but before moving them any further, she circled her hips and ground herself against his crotch. Roger gritted his teeth and wrapped his fingers around Amy’s forearms. Amy could see how much he was fighting against his inhibitions. He so desperately wanted and needed the physicality that Amy was offering. Was he shy?

As Roger demonstrated his response to Amy’s advances, she hooked a second set of fingers over the waistband of Roger’s shorts and pulled them down past his knees and ankles and over his feet. Roger lay before her in all of his tanned glory, the evidence of his virility barely contained within his boxer shorts.

Amy clambered seductively back over the bed and over Roger’s wanting body. She couldn’t help herself any longer and by the looks of Roger’s face, he didn’t want her to. She wrapped her fingertips around the top of his boxers and gently pulled them down his legs, freeing his manhood, which was stiff and resting against his undulating stomach. Roger impulsively brushed his hands down to lay defensively next to his crotch, as if he so desperately didn’t want to be seen.

“Mr Federer, you are beautiful inside and out, please let me see you”. To this, Roger chuckled nervously and slowly moved his hands away.

Amy took a gentle hand and wrapped it around his cock. Roger instantly gripped the bed sheets in response. He watched her as she moved her hand slowly up and down his length. He held his breath as her grip tightened around him. He could feel the months of celibacy and holding back building pressure in his groin. He started to flex his hips, moving them rhythmically up and down in time with her hand.

Amy enjoyed the feel of Roger in her hand. He was large and firm. She could feel Roger moving his hips beneath her, so she removed her hand, and instead wrapped her lips around the head of Roger’s penis. This was almost Roger’s undoing. He groaned loudly and clawed at the sheets around him as her tongue encircled him. He could feel the pressure mounting quickly as her lips slid up and down his cock which was hardening faster by the second.

“Ohh, Amy…” he breathed, but he could manage no more. He had become too distracted by the dizzying sensations encasing his manhood.

Amy slowed her actions and brought her head back enough to see a pearl-sized bead of semen come from the head of Roger’s penis. She watched as it slowly dribbled down the side of his head. She brought her mouth in closely and with the pointed tip of her tongue, licked the bead of Federer’s juice from his cock. It was warm and salty.

Roger’s hand scratched at nothingness, trying to find an anchor for his surging impulses. He found the top of Amy’s head and fisted his hand in her hair. He grabbed at tendrils and raked his fingertips over her scalp as he heard the reverberations of his own wailing.

Amy drew her head back and licked the salty fluid from her lips. She didn’t want him to come this way. Roger lifted his head to look down at Amy. She stared back at him, a hungry look in her eyes. Her mouth hung open, salivating. She wondered how Roger had managed to last so long considering the amount of time it had supposedly been since The Fed had had sex. Her mind momentarily wondered back to her conversations with Djokovic. She wondered whether he would be proud of her…wondered whether she was doing what he wanted her to. This was only meant to be about sex, but as she looked into Roger’s eyes and saw them looking back at her, wanting, she felt something else for him.

She crawled further up the bed, one limb at a time, her legs spread over Roger’s, her hands pawing her way up. She stopped when her face was level with his. Her wet hair hung over his face and brushed his cheeks. He looked at her, lips parted, breathing heavy. She lowered her lips to his. His eyes closed as she pressed her mouth to his. Roger welcomed her tongue in his mouth. His breathing became heavy but shallow as he struggled for air through his nose. His erection was now almost painful. He pushed his warm tongue further into Amy’s mouth, searching for solace.

Amy positioned her hips just above Roger’s erection. She lowered herself slowly so that the moist opening of her sex just kissed the head of his penis. Roger moaned into Amy’s mouth and pushed harder against her. Amy teased, drawing her hips away from him. Roger protested, so once again, Amy lowered her hips, this time allowing the head of his manhood to enter her slick passage. Roger’s whole body shuddered, from the hairs on his head, down to his extremities. His fingers clasped and his hips flexed. For the last time, Amy withdrew and tore her lips from his. She looked at his face. It was sweaty and desperate. They were both breathing heavily.

“Is this what you want Mr Federer?” she asked, a small smile crept onto her lips. Roger responded more with his body than his voice.

“Yes…” he whispered. He closed his eyes again, he clasped Amy’s arms if only to brace himself against the intolerable sexual frustration he felt. Amy once again positioned herself above his raging erection. She lowered her hips to allow the tip of his cock to slide languidly into her. Here she made small circles with her hips, teasing him. Roger sighed and his eyes rolled back into his head. After further teasing, Amy lowered herself so that his cock was fully buried inside her. Roger cried loudly and threw his head back in ecstasy.

She rode him hard, thrusting her hips backwards and forwards, circling them round, so that she could feel every last inch of him, deep inside of her. Amy could feel herself building, her muscles clenching and she knew that she was close to her climax. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and threw her head back. “Roger!” she screamed repeatedly Roger, in turn, started to groan once more.

His satisfied groan was enough to push Amy over the edge. She braced herself against Roger’s chest as her orgasm shook every inch of her. Her intimate parts became promptly slick and this made Roger feel larger inside of her. Roger, despite being in a state of euphoria, had read the signals and understood what happened to Amy. “Roger…” Amy breathed, “…that was you..!” The acknowledgement was stimulating. “That was you!” she repeated, over and over as she continued to ride Roger Federer into his state of ecstasy. His groans got louder, his hands gripped Amy’s hips tightly and his breaths were now as audible as his moans.

The feel of Amy wrapped tightly around his cock was other-worldly and Roger was unable to contain himself. A sensation that had long-since eluded him began to build beneath his penis… “I’m coming…” he called out in a strangled cry. The pressure had built more. “I’m coming, Amy” he repeated as his climax reached its peak… “I’m coming…I’m com….” Roger Federer threw his head back into the pillows, clawed at the bed sheets and gripped them tightly as his convulsions paralysed him and he ejaculated into Amy.


	8. The Sad Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy becomes desperate as she struggles to come to terms with the fact that last night was a result of The Game, and not her.

Amy looked at her reflection in the mirror. She was glowing, radiant, refreshed. Her pupils were dilated and a pink tinge coloured her cheeks. As for her hair, it had almost dried from the rain. She clasped the edge of the sink and leant forward to inspect herself more closely. _You dirty whore_ , she thought. She laughed at herself internally. _You’ve just fucked Roger Federer._ A grin much akin to that of a Cheshire cat spread across her face and she doubled over in fits of silent laughter. When she regained her composure, she walked back over to the door adjoining the bedroom and the en-suite. She looked back into the bedroom where Roger lay sprawled across the bed. He lay on his front diagonally across the mattress with one arm hanging limply down the side of the bed. His hair had matted to his forehead with sweat and his eyes were closed. Amy watched him as he breathed quietly. He looked so peaceful. Her eyes travelled from his head to his ass, which was covered by thin white sheets. _Damn_ , she thought.

She tiptoed over to the bedside table where she had left her phone and something about it made her wary. She looked around for anything amiss but couldn’t see anything out of place. Nothing seemed wrong, yet something was definitely making her feel uncomfortable. She shrugged it off and returned to the bathroom with her phone. She sat on the edge of the bath and text Djokovic.

_Hi Novak, hope you’re ok. Just letting you know…I did it!_

At first, Amy thought she’d wait for his reply, but then realised it was 1:30am. She couldn’t expect him to be…

The phone pinged!

 _Hallelujah!_ _Funny, just had some myself! We will talk about this soon! I’ll be over tomorrow._

Amy chuckled to herself. She had grown to like Djokovic and trust him. She hoped that he wouldn’t tell Roger about their discussions. He wouldn’t be that tactless would he? Although, he did show up at Roger’s house and start flirting with her. She smirked again.

Amy put her phone down and walked over to the shower. The damn thing had so many options that she was spoilt for choice! She decided to go with ‘tropical’, and let out a sigh as the hot water washed over her skin. The steam rose up around her, swathing her in a fluid sanctuary. She closed her eyes and remembered the feel of Roger in her hand. As her mind drifted, her fingers closed. She remembered the taste of him on her lips. She remembered the feel of him in her mouth. She swallowed and licked her lips. The hot water washed away any traces that he had been there, yet the feel of him lingered. She could still feel his length inside of her. As her hair became heavy with the weight of the water, Amy allowed her head to tilt back against the wall. The large splashes of water speckled her face. She remembered how he had called her name as he came. Amy reached down between her legs and found that she was a different kind of wet, wet for Roger…again.

 _He said my name_ , she thought, as she slowly rubbed herself. She thought about how he had thrown himself at her on the tennis court. She thought about how he so desperately needed her physical closeness. _He kisses with such fire!_ She could feel herself building again. So desperate for release, he was, that he dry humped her on the floor of the tennis court. Such a gentleman that he walked away without a climax! _He didn’t shun me!_ Amy’s hand had started to rub faster and harder. Her back was pressed against the wall, her skin started to perspire, partly due to her exertions and to the steamy and heady atmospheric concoctions around her. Her climax was close. _He kissed me!_ By this point, Amy was on the precipice, moist and hot. She spread her feet, her toes curled and just as the image of Roger’s face entered her mind, her insides convulsed as she climaxed again.

She spent another 10 minutes after that washing her hair and body. She wrapped a towel around her and tiptoed out of the en-suite bathroom, across Roger’s bedroom and out into the hallway. It was as it had been earlier, dark and quiet. The only light came from Roger’s room. She made her way back to her room, where she dropped the towel, tied up her hair and sat on the edge of her bed.

She wondered whether she would wake up the next morning to discover it was just another dream. _Will I forget the details?_ She asked herself. _Will I forget that he called my name?_ Swiftly, she grabbed a nearby pen and notepad, turned to a clean page and began to scribble…

Dear Diary, …

…she had never written a diary entry before. What did people say? Did they speak to themselves? She decided to give it ago before her memories escaped her.

… ~~fucked Roger Federer today. He called my name when he came!~~

Today, I had the best night of my life! I shared an intimate moment with Roger Federer, the one and only! ~~He’s really big!~~

~~He has a huge pe~~

She stopped and tapped her pencil on the edge of the notepad. Tap tap tap. She chewed the pencil. Tap tap tap. How did she really feel? After a few moments of thought, she put the pencil to paper again.

He made me feel like a Goddess.

A

Done. Finished. No more. If she continued with it, she would have gone on for ever and ever. She put the pencil on her bedside table and dropped the notepad into the drawer.

She dried herself off, changed into her most comfortable pyjamas and crept into bed. As she lay her head on the pillow and allowed her eyes to close, she replayed the last few words of her diary entry in her head as if they were on tape. _He made me feel like a Goddess…he made me feel like a Goddess…HE made me feel…like a GODDESS…_

 

 

The next morning, Amy was awoken by the buzzing of her phone. She ignored it. Whoever it was would probably call back. Anyway, she didn’t want to speak to anyone but Roger this morning. But what if Roger was calling her?! She threw her sheets back in one swift movement and leapt up to grab her phone. False alarm. It was only Novak, no doubt trying to get all of the dirty little details out of her. She would call him back later and give him what he wanted. After all, he had been right all along about Roger. Speaking of which, where was Roger? What was he doing? Was he awake? Amy wondered if Roger remembered last night fondly.

It was a Monday, so Amy dressed smartly as a good assistant should and exited her room. It was a beautiful dry day and a cool breeze swam slowly through the house, blowing curtains lazily into the rooms. She walked through the living room and noticed that Roger’s racket was gone. _Typical Rog_ , she thought. Gone to play tennis even at this hour (it was 7:00am). She came to the conclusion that Roger didn’t need her. He hadn’t knocked for her, called her or text her. To be fair to him, she wasn’t due to start until now anyway. She decided to make herself some coffee, but just as she had put the kettle on to boil, a commotion several feet away distracted her. She turned to look over her shoulder to see Mrs White the maid rushing through the French doors and scuttling over to her, the most enormous grin on her face. Her hands waved excitedly in the air and she was mewing hysterically.

 _Ha! Mrs White’s found herself a toyboy!_ Thought Amy. But when she threw her hands at Amy and clasped her forearms firmly, Amy thought otherwise.

“Oh!” she exclaimed in a hushed and hurried tone. “What on Earth have you done to Mr Federer?!” Her little grey eyes glittered with excitement. Amy looked down at her, Kettle still in hand.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, Mr Federer has never slept in this long before!” _He’s still asleep?!_ The kind and eager face of Mrs White gaped expectantly at Amy, waiting for a reply.

“Does he not usually have lie ins?” Amy asked.

“Good heavens no!” she laughed jovially, trying to keep her tone still hushed. “I came in this morning and found his racket on the sofa! It’s very unlike him!” Amy couldn’t conceal her amusement any longer and she started to smile coyly as she returned the kettle so it could boil. She realised that Mrs White had in fact given her the same advice as Djokovic. She owed her something at least, so she grabbed two mugs and said

“OK, something might have happened last night. Would you like a cup of tea?”

So Amy made herself a cup of strong coffee and made Mrs White what she knew as a ‘builders’ tea as she put away her duster.

When Mrs White had straightened her skirt and sat at the dining room table, Amy brought over their drinks. Under her arm, she also carried a notepad and pen for the day’s schedule. Mrs White sat with her hands clasped in front of her. She was waiting with anticipation for Amy to sit down and spill the beans.

“So, Mrs White…what would you like to know?” Mrs White placed a bony hand on Amy’s.

“Call me June” she said.

“Uhh, ok…June…you are clearly under the impression that something happened last night…”

“…Oh I know something happened last night dear” she replied affectionately. She placed her hands around Amy’s cheeks. “I can tell by your face. A woman looks like that when she’s had herself some fun!” Amy wondered what she meant. Was she flushed?

For the next half hour or so, the two of them talked happily with one another. They initially spoke about Roger, but that was very briefly. They then moved on to talking about old boyfriends and relationships. June told Amy that she had once been engaged to someone in business who had made a real name for himself, but called it off for falling for someone in the navy. Amy admitted her past history of boyfriends, which didn’t sound half as romantic or glamorous as June’s stories. They laughed together and smiled together. Amy started to wonder if she hadn’t been too judgmental of June when she had first met her. It was becoming clearer by the minute that she wanted the best for Roger.

Amy opened up her notepad and flicked past the page she wrote on last night and got a quick glance of the word 'Goddess'. She struggled to contain a giggle. She picked up her pen and began to make notes of the upcoming tennis events and timings. She scribbled them down as June talked to her.

“Was he a gentleman to you, dear?” Amy nearly spat out her coffee!

“A gentleman?!” she asked. She had never in her life had sex with someone that she would call a gentleman! “What do you mean?” June smiled a naughty smile, and Amy liked it.

“You know, did he touch you gently? Did he…let you finish first?” Amy was glad she had swallowed her coffee because she let out such a howl of laughter that it otherwise would have soaked June to the skin.

“Uhhh…yes…” she giggled “…yeah he did let me finish first”. June grinned like a little girl. Her smile was toothy and her eyes squinted.

“Oh I knew he was a good lad!” she clapped her hands jovially. She leaned in towards Amy and Amy couldn’t help but mirror her. She was in such a playful mood! “You know…” June whispered as she looked over her shoulder to make sure no one could hear “…when me and my Roy were being intimate, we had to stop half way through so I could finish before him!” The both of them laughed hysterically! June squeezed her hands together as her shoulders bobbed up and down and Amy wiped tears from her eyes as the pleasant sounds of their laughter bounced off of the walls all around the room. They laughed and giggled and smiled with each other, until the sound of a door opening made them stop in their tracks. They both turned and looked in the direction of the noise and saw Roger standing at the entrance to the kitchen. He wore long grey jogging bottoms that hung low on his hips but no top. His hair was scruffy and parts stuck out at odd angles. He appeared confused as he looked from one of them to the other. When his eyes met Amy’s, his cheeks flushed pink and he quickly looked away to avoid showing the smile that was appearing at the corner of his mouth, but June saw and gave Amy a knowing wink. Amy smiled. Roger ran his hands through his hair, said “Good morning ladies” and then turned on his heel and walked off.

No sooner had he left then the two ladies dissolved into fits of laughter once more.

Once they had finished their drinks, June returned to cleaning the house and Amy gathered her things and went in search of Roger. She thought she might try his bedroom, but then thought that his reaction to her this morning was less than inviting. So instead, she stood and waited outside of his office.

After waiting about 10 minutes, Roger rounded the corner. He wore jeans and a cardigan that hugged him so snuggly. His hair had been washed and dried and was now fluffy and styled. His head was bowed and his hands were in his pockets.

“Good morning, Mr Federer”, Amy grinned as she clutched her notepad and pen, proud of her morning’s work (and of last night’s). Roger turned his attention from his feet to her for a few seconds as he walked past. He replied indifferently and motioned for her to come into his office. She walked in submissively, disappointed in his reaction to her. Did he not enjoy last night? Did he not appreciate it? Perhaps he was shy or just didn’t want to remember it. None of these options sat well with Amy, who just felt like she had been filled with a lead balloon…a shame after such a pleasant morning with June.

He held the door open for her and she walked past him. As she did she caught his scent and it drove her crazy. It was so Federer. It was what she knew of him. Instantly, her insides knotted and she became nervous. Roger closed the door and stood close beside her. He looked over her shoulder as she began to explain his upcoming schedule.

“So, Mr Federer, as you probably know, the Australian open will be starting soon…the 18th of January to be exact. I’m going to sign you up and I think they’ll seed you second after Mr Djokovic”

She stopped to look up at him, but he simply stared past her and looked at her notes…so she continued. “Erm…Nike would like to do some promotional work before the open. Gillette have asked how you would feel about another advert. And Mr Djokovic will be over today.”

At this last point, Roger turned abruptly and looked at her. She simply shrugged.

Roger sighed and walked over to his desk. When he was stood behind it, he leaned over it, his arms spread wide over the top.

“I would like to discuss last night”.

It was a very formal and business like way to bring up the subject of sex with your employee, Amy thought. Nonetheless, she was glad that he had made the first move. Yet, she stood rooted to the spot and clutched her notepad tightly and defensively to her chest. She didn’t say a word. Roger regarded her for some time, waiting for a response, and when he realised that she was saying nothing, he added… “Will you not say something?”

Amy shifted from one foot to the other and bowed her head shamefully. It quickly occurred to her that this was not anyone that she had slept with. It was Roger Federer. What if it got out? “I…I…” she didn’t know what to say to him. She couldn’t tell him that she felt sorry him and there was no way on this earth that she would tell him about what Novak had said. He continued to stare at her, his hands clasping the edge of his desk. “I…I just…”

“I haven’t been made to feel like that in years” it escaped his lips before Amy had time to finish her sentence. She hoped that it was meant as a compliment, but something didn’t add up. If he hadn’t had such a passionate experience in so long, how did he have two young boys?

“What about Lenny and Leo?” she slowly walked towards the desk and placed the notepad and pen down. She looked up at Roger to see his expression was uncomfortable.

“The boys…they were conceived in love…but…” He needn’t have said anymore. Amy understood. She crossed the desk and placed a hand tenderly on his arm. It was firm beneath her hand and warm. He looked down into her eyes. And there it was. The air between them would have crackled with static electricity if Amy hadn’t known any better. She gazed longingly up at him, willing him to close the void between them. She made her feelings very clear as she tightened her grip on his arm and slowly moved her body closer to his. His 6’1” stature made her feel very small but very safe.

What she didn’t know was that Roger recognised all of the signs that Amy displayed. She exhibited them like a peacock or some kind of animal in heat. He had known for a while that he tended to have that effect on women. It explained the underwear thrown onto the courts on tour and the constant marriage proposals screamed to him. This didn’t appear any different. She was throwing herself at him. He took her by the shoulders.

“Amy, what happened last night was…very enjoyable…but I’m afraid it won’t happen again.” Amy tried to appear indifferent to this statement. She shrugged her shoulders, but it didn’t stop his words piercing her like a spear. Roger could see the disappointment wash over her face.

“Of course not” she said. She looked away from him and Roger dropped his hands from her shoulders. All she wanted to do in that moment was put her hands all over Roger’s body. She wanted to make him feel the way he felt last night. She couldn’t help herself. She threw her arms out and drove her hands up his cardigan and top so her fingers ran up the sides of his stomach. The feel of his tender skin on her fingertips was arousing. Roger didn’t flinch. Instead he watched her in pity as she stroked him and grasped with her fingers. She was coming undone before him, her eyes closing and her breathing upping in pace, but Roger remained unaffected.

“Amy…” he said calmly. She didn’t listen. She crouched down to her knees so that her face with level with his crotch and she began madly fiddling with the buttons at the front of his jeans. “Amy…” he repeated, more firmly this time. Again she ignored him, choosing to leave the buttons for a few seconds. She rubbed her hands up Roger’s legs, groping firmly and then grabbing his ass. She nuzzled her face into his crotch against the firm fabric of his jeans. Roger remained still and quiet. Why wasn’t this working? When Amy attempted to undo the buttons on his jeans for a second time, Roger felt that enough was enough. She had just managed to undo the last button and expose his crisp white boxers when he stooped down, took her by the wrists and pulled her up. “Amy, this _will not_ work. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but whatever it is, you won’t achieve it this way!” His eyes were composed and his words were slow and calm.

Amy blinked up at him. At this very moment, Amy no longer heard his Swiss accent. They were just words coming out of his mouth. Harsh words.

“I just wanted to…make you happy” She stuttered.

“You don’t understand” he started. “I don’t have desires the way other people do.”

“Last night doesn’t support your argument” Amy replied and Roger’s eyes widened.

“It was different last night…I had…something happened…”

Amy knew what he was referring to…what she had suspected all along. People didn’t turn him on. The _game_ did.

“Mr Federer, I know what it is. I know…”

“…you don’t, Amy.” He shook his head. “I’m not normal like other men…” he took her by the shoulders again “…and I can’t be what you need.”

Just as Amy stared into his suddenly cold eyes, there came the sound of a doorbell. Roger looked over Amy’s shoulder and released her. His deft fingers quickly fumbled with the buttons on his jeans to do them up. He then walked out of the room.

Amy fell to the floor. Tears pooled in her eyes. What on earth had she been thinking? She had been so desperate, desperate for him and desperate for him to want her, but the sad truth was that she had been right all along. It wasn’t people that did it for him. It was the game…more precisely, being good at it. She gulped, knowing that she could and would accept that, but as she sat on the hard wood floor and reflected on what she had just done, she felt suddenly sick. She stood up and bolted through the door. She ran down the corridor, hoping and praying that she could get to the bathroom in time. Her hair flapped out behind her and she kept her eyes down as she turned the corner and ran…straight into Novak. Despite his surprised expression, he held out his arms and caught her, just in time for her to vomit all down the front of his jacket. He held her at arm’s length and looked at her closely, concern all over his face.

Roger had just followed Novak into the living room and looked at them both. Novak had his back to Roger and so Roger was not able to see the aftermath of Amy’s incident. “Are you ok?” he asked.

Novak, turned his head to look over his shoulder, being careful not to turn his body around. “Miss Greene was just about to show me the bedroom that you have kindly offered her. I won’t be a minute.” Amy was appreciative of Novak’s tact. She walked in the direction of her bedroom and Novak followed closely behind her.


	9. Someone Else Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Novak sees first hand what Amy has been telling him about all this time.

“Are you okay?” Novak asked as he peeled the jacket and his t-shirt off and handed them to Amy’s outstretched hand.

“I’m not sure, Novak.” She replied. “I think I may have just made myself look very foolish.” She took Novak’s clothes into the bathroom and tossed them into the bath to deal with later. Novak stood with his hands on his hips. He looked her up and down and sighed. He held his arms out and gestured to her to come to him. She walked over and accepted his hug. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. She rested her head against his bare chest and her eyes began to tingle with fresh tears.

“So,” he started “what are we going to do about this, huh?” Amy sniffed.

“Oh Novak, there’s so much I want to tell you.”

“Then tell me.” Amy looked up at him. She was so grateful to have Novak on her side. She stepped away from Novak, brushed the tears from her eyes and gestured to his bare chest.

“I’d better get you something to wear. Rog will get funny ideas if he sees you leave my room half dressed!” Novak grinned and chuckled.

When Amy returned with one of Roger’s Nike tops, she apologised when she handed it to him. Emblazoned on the front were the words ‘Roger That’.

“I’ll tell him I spilled my drink” and he winked at Amy as he pulled it over his head. “Right, I’d better go speak to Rog before he wonders what we’re up to.” He turned to leave the room.

“Novak?”

“Mm?”

“Don’t mention last night…please.”

“Sure thing” and with a smile, he left.

Amy turned her attention to Novak’s clothes. She hand washed them in the bath before putting them in the wash. She then jumped in the shower and brushed her teeth. She hadn’t been sick in years! What on earth was wrong with her?

She reapplied her make-up and styled her hair. When she had regained her composure, she left the room and bravely made her way to the living room where Roger and Novak were sat deep in conversation. When she entered, both Roger and Novak simultaneously turned to look at her. They were both perched on the edge of opposite sofas, their hands out in front of them. Amy looked from one to the other.

“Can I get either of you anything?” she asked. Novak immediately changed his posture and sat back in his sofa. He draped a leg across his knee and smiled kindly at her.

“I’m fine thank you, Miss Greene. Rog?” He looked across to Roger who was still staring at Amy.

“Erm, could you please call Severin and tell him that I will meet him in Australia on January 15th?”

“Of course.”

“Bye Amy!” Novak called loudly after her as she left the room to make the phone call.

Severin was not at all happy to hear that Roger was leaving it so late to arrive in Australia. It took Amy several attempts to get him to understand that she was just relaying a message. In the end he muttered some things in Swiss-German and put down the phone.

When she returned to the living room, Roger and Novak were standing up. Novak bounded over to her. “You. Me. Him. Tennis. Now.” He held out a racket for Amy to take. She did so tentatively and as she looked into his eyes, she saw the hint of an ulterior motive, but it was gone as quickly as she had spotted it. He turned back to Roger and held out his arms. “Court in 5?”

 

Closer to 10 minutes later, Amy was dressed and ready for play. She shifted uncomfortably in her two tight sports bras. It had felt like such a long time since she had been on court with Roger. It had, in fact, been only last night when his inhibitions had left him for the sake of a moment of passion.

When she left her room, she found Roger waiting for her. He was leant casually against the wall with his arms folded. One of his feet was crossed over the other. He wore a black Nike polo shirt with black shorts and trainers. His hair was held in place by a black Nike headband. It made him look extremely serious. His expression was hard to read but his eyes were dark. Amy had never felt so uncomfortable. The last time that she and Roger had been alone together, she had almost molested him. She trudged forward towards him and hung her head but felt the reassuring weight of Roger’s hand on her shoulder.

“Novak said you were unwell. Are you alright?” Amy nodded.

“Yes thank you, Sir. I’m fine.” Roger withdrew very slightly at being referred to as “sir” again. “Where is Novak?”

“He’s gone down to the court already.”

They both walked through the house and down towards the courts together. He seemed to have forgiven her, but all was not sitting right in her own head. She had to say something.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Roger looked at her as she spoke. “I can’t explain my behaviour. It’s just….I just…”

“I can’t complain. My behaviour was just as bad.” He shrugged.

“Yeah, but, you’re _you_! You’re _Roger Federer_. You can do what you want!” At this, Roger chuckled.

“I assure you that Roger Federer cannot do what he wants.”

They walked slowly down the path leading from the French doors to the courts.

“By the way,” Amy started “Severin didn’t seem too happy with the date you gave him.” Roger laughed.

“Yes, well in this instance, Roger Federer _is_ doing what he wants.” And with that, Roger shepherded her into the court.

Novak was stood at the other end already, twirling his racket impatiently. “Where were you guys? I was getting lonely.” He smirked and stuck his tongue between his teeth as Roger and Amy stood opposite the net. Novak stopped twirling his racket and put one hand on his hip. “It’s two against one now?” He gesticulated towards them both. Roger and Amy exchanged glances. Amy giggled inside. Novak really did make her laugh. He had the sense of humour that could make light of any situation. Here she was in the thick of a scandal that could ruin Roger Federer’s reputation, and on the opposite side of the net to her was the only other person in the world who knew about it and she knew that he would take it to his grave.

“Amy _is_ my employee, Novak.” Roger stated. Novak scoffed.

“You don’t need any more help! Look at me…” he pinched the skin on his arm and gestured towards his legs. “I need all the help I can get!” Amy laughed even more when she saw Novak jog over to her side of the net. He took her by the arm and steered her back over to his side of the net. Roger rolled his eyes.

“You play with me now, yes, Miss Greene?” Amy nodded cautiously.

“Uhh…yes, Mr Djokovic…if that’s ok with Mr Federer”. Roger, who had heard what she said, waved his hand indifferently and walked casually towards the baseline.

Amy seized her chance. As Roger’s back was turned, she rushed up to Novak and whispered in his ear “watch him _closely_.” Without looking at her, Novak nodded, turned and walked towards the baseline to serve. Amy, who knew more about tennis now than she ever had in her life, knew that she had to stand at the service line. She then crouched to allow Novak’s ball to pass over her.

When she heard Novak make a noise behind her and saw the ball come over her head, she immediately returned to an upright position and watched as Federer effortlessly extended his arm and returned the ball.

“Yours, Amy…”

“…got it…” HIT! Roger hit it back to them. Novak ran for the ball and hit a cross court forehand. Roger ran for it and hit a backhand towards Amy. Amy chipped it over the net, requiring Roger to sprint to the net. He got there in time to chip it back over, but Amy caught it. Roger chipped it back to Amy, and Amy back to Federer. The volley continued as neither player would give up the point.

By this point, Novak had given up trying to intercept the ball. He stood halfway between the baseline and the service line watching them both rally intensely.

Amy could feel her heart start to race. He was hard work and a tough opponent, but he wasn’t sitting back on his laurels either. After ferociously hitting the ball with her racket, she had just enough time to watch Roger for a few seconds before he hit it back to her.

She saw how his expressionless his face was. She watched how elegantly and effortlessly he reached the ball. And then she also saw, between his legs, his shorts straining at the front. There it was!

BANG!

She lobbed the ball out of play, so far out of the court that Roger was forced to turn and run for it. She quickly used this opportunity to turn to Novak. “Look!” she hissed. He looked over her shoulder at Roger, and his eyes widened in surprise. “See?! I _told_ you!”

Roger served the ball back towards them, but Amy decided to sit and observe. She let Novak rally with Roger. She sat at the side of the court with her back to the cage. She watched as Roger grew steadily larger through his shorts, but it was as if he had hardly noticed! His shorts became tighter and tighter. Novak continued to play with Roger, but he occasionally glanced in Amy’s direction, his look, concerned and confused.

Amy wondered if he had always been this way or if it had been since Mirka had left. Perhaps she left because of it. Perhaps she couldn’t stand the fact that her husband was aroused by tennis and not by her! Dizzying thoughts swam through her head. There were so many possibilities for the explanation of Roger’s arousal, and so many theories behind the reason for the divorce. Half the world was speculating and spreading ugly rumours. It was fair to say that everyone knew that the marriage wasn’t a happy one towards the end. However, Amy thought it was safe to say that the rest of the world certainly did not know about this relationship that Roger had with his game.

“Amy!” shouted Roger, as the ball came flying towards her. She caught it clumsily in her hands. “Enough tennis…I’m going for a coffee.” Called Novak. “Perhaps, Amy, you would like to join me?” His tone bore more meaning than his words. Amy was not stupid and she could read between the lines.

“If Mr Federer has no objections…” They both turned to look at the pro, to find that he had turned his back to them. His head was lowered and one hand rested on his hip. The other hung next to his leg clasping his racket. He waved his hand in approval but didn’t move from the spot nor say anything. Amy and Novak read the signs and quickly scurried off court.

 

 

An hour later, after showering, dressing and cleaning up, Amy and Novak pulled up outside of a small café in Zurich. Neither of them had said a word to each other on the journey and both wore serious expressions, for neither of them could deny what they had just seen. Amy had known for some time, but now someone else had witnessed it! Novak had gripped the steering wheel tightly the whole drive and his knuckles were white.

They stepped out of the car, chose a table in the corner of the shop and ordered their drinks quietly. Novak started first.

“Amy….what…the fuck?” His voice was quiet, but every other sign told Amy that he was deeply concerned for what he had just seen. His head was lowered and his palms were straight and faced down on the table.

“I don’t know, Novak…what do you want me to say? I told you this was happening.”

“No, no, no…” he waved his hands and then looked over his shoulder to check that no one could overhear. “When you said he was turned on by tennis, you didn’t say that he was literally bonerific!”

“Well, having told you that he dry humped me on the tennis court, I thought you might have gathered!”

There was a moment’s pause as they both looked helplessly at each other, their faces mere inches apart, until they both burst into fits of laughter. Novak slapped his thigh and shook his head in amused disbelief and Amy giggled discreetly. Once again, Novak had proven to be the bearer of light relief and suddenly, everything in the world was ok again. She no longer considered her romp with Federer a potential scandal. It was now just a secret between her, Roger and her closest confidant.

“Spill the beans then” he chuckled. Amy flushed pink and tried to hide her face behind a napkin before Novak playfully snatched it away. “Details details!”

“What do you want to know?”

“Well…did he come?”

“Yeah”

Novak banged his fist on the table.

“Did you suck him off?!”

“Yeah”

Novak laughed an almost demonic laugh.

“You naughty little thing! Did you deep throat? He’s got a big cock hasn’t he!” Amy almost choked on her coffee

“Erm…how would you know that?”

“Uhhh…locker rooms? Duh!”

Amy grinned. Should tennis players be checking out their opponents intimate areas? Well, it would be news for the press should the worst every happen, she gathered.

“He didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. He, kinda…just lay back and let me do it.” Novak raised a suspicious eyebrow and pointed a knowing finger at her.

“Watch out, Miss Greene. He may come across all innocent and shit, but Federer has a dominant side to him. It wouldn’t surprise me if he tried to have you up against a wall or something next.”

Amy swilled the coffee around in her cup. The thought of Roger pinning her up against a wall whilst he nibbled at her neck made her start to feel tingly again.

“Thanks for the heads-up Novak.”

“Just be careful when you do it next.”

For the second time since she slept with Roger, Amy felt an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. What was that? It was the same feeling she got when she was forgetting something. Perhaps it had been because Novak suggested she would sleep with Roger again. She couldn’t lie to herself, she had hoped it would happen.

She nodded politely at Novak’s last request.

“So…tell me more about _your_ night of action Novak. I’ve given you all the gritty details of mine.”

The tennis pro cracked his knuckles and kicked back proudly in his chair. He beamed as he began to recount his night.

“ _My_ night was delectable, Miss Greene. This beautiful blonde girl stopped me in the street to ask for my autograph…at least I think that’s what she wanted…she was speaking another language...Dutch or something.”

“Swiss-German” Amy interrupted. “Right. Well I basically took her back to my hotel room and banged her here, and there…all over!” Amy raised her eyebrows disapprovingly and Novak laughed before leaning in to whisper, “She even let me do it in the ass!”

“You’re foul, Novak” Amy teased. Novak simply winked at her.

After dropping Amy off at the Federer household, Djokovic departed with a quick goodbye and a promise to stay in touch.


	10. Over to you now, Rog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leaving Roger on the court in his state of frustration, Amy returns to find him in a worse state and decides that she needs to intervene and teach him how to take care of himself.

“Mr Federer?!” Amy called through the house after her return. “Mr Federer? Sir?” She draped her jacket casually over the back of one of the sofas and meandered her way around the furniture, glancing down the corridors in the house. Upon hearing her, Mrs White had tentatively appeared from one of the rooms holding a duster and polish. Amy gave her a questioning look but Mrs White merely shrugged.

“Mr Federer?” she called again. Where was he? It was early afternoon and Amy was still technically on shift. She carried her notepad and pen around with her as she checked various rooms. He wasn’t in the kitchen, dining room or his bedroom. For a moment, Amy considered the idea that he might still be on the court, practicing his serve or something, but then thought that she might check the study.

She knocked politely on the door, and despite there being no answer, she turned the door handle and went in. Roger was sat tensely at his desk. His hands were clasped in front of him and his head hung low. There was no work around him, he just sat there. He didn’t look at her when she came in. Amy noticed that his knee was bobbing up and down vigorously, as if he had some nervous twitch or was on edge somehow. Amy closed the door quietly behind her but didn’t move from her spot. His personal bubble was obviously so wide at the moment, she didn’t dare invade it.

“Mr Federer? I…uh…I’ve responded to Gillette to tell them that you’re currently unavailable, but Wilson have now gotten in touch. Shall I…erm…tell them you’re busy?” Roger simply shook his head slowly from side to side, his leg still bouncing up and down underneath the table.

“It’s no use” he muttered.

“Sorry Sir?”

“It won’t go down.” He lifted his head to look at Amy and gestured his hands towards his crotch and Amy remembered the game before her and Djokovic had left for coffee. Had he been like this all this time? _Poor Fed_ , she thought.

“Have you tried taking a cold shower?” Roger frowned at her, confused.

“No. Would that help?”

“Erm, it helps lots of guys I think.”

Amy watched Roger slowly rise from behind his desk, being careful to try and hide the evidence of the painful erection that was causing him so much distress. He pressed his hand down on his groin but it was no use. Amy could clearly see that it was up, and it wasn’t going down without some sort of intervention. Roger blushed as he awkwardly limped past Amy, and she made an effort to avert her eyes, but she followed him out of the room nonetheless.

Since he hadn’t asked her to leave, Amy escorted Roger to his bedroom where he closed the door and began to take his shirt off. His use of both hands freed his erection which pressed against his shorts. Roger didn’t seem too bothered at this point with Amy being in the room, but the same couldn’t be said for her. She stood in the corner of the room with her notepad close to her chest. She rocked backwards and forwards from foot to foot, looking anywhere around her but at the topless and horny Roger Federer.

Roger tossed his shirt onto the floor and looked at Amy, who nodded back encouragingly. He opened the door to the bathroom and went inside.

Amy just couldn’t understand it. In her experience, men were so used to daily erections that they knew a vast range of ways to deal with them. The men she had dated could have written a text book on the subject! And here was Roger Federer, the greatest tennis player of all time, practically terrified of the prospect of a bodily function beyond his control. She heard the water of the shower start to run. Surely, Roger would have started getting erections at about 13 like most other boys. And surely he would have touched himself like every other horny sex-crazed teenager. But then again, Roger Federer was a very different man. What was it that Djokovic had said? Roger Federer was one of the players on the tour known for not masturbating. Amy could have sworn that she heard once that coaches discouraged it to maintain high levels of focus and tension, except most male players disregarded this, claiming that this was unfounded.

“Amy?” Roger’s voice echoed from the bathroom behind the door.

“Yes, Roger?”

“Uhh…it’s not going down.” Amy giggled. The whole situation was a little funny to her. This was a side that the world certainly didn’t know about.

“Erm, I think you’re gonna have to take care of it yourself.” There was a pause.

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, touch yourself.”

“I have touched it, it’s really hard.” Amy would have fallen over in fits of laughter if she hadn’t been leaning against the doorframe with her ear to the wooden door.

“No!” she laughed “I mean…you know…have a wank.”

“A what?!”

“Masturbate, Roger”

There was another long pause. Much longer than the first. Amy held her breath as she pressed her ear to the door once again. She couldn’t hear much through it, just the sound of the water falling. “Is it helping?” No response. Amy had given up on waiting. She walked through the bathroom door and was confronted by the sight of a fully naked Federer, cock in hand, his hair stuck to his face in strands. He was pumping his arm so awkwardly that it was no wonder why he wasn’t achieving his end. He concentrated so hard on moving his fist that he was oblivious to Amy’s presence. She put down her pad and pen, rolled up her sleeves and stood behind him.

With all of the subtlety she could muster, she snaked her arms around his back and took his right fist in her hand. Roger flinched at first, alarmed that she had joined him in such an intensely personal moment, his apparently first wank. “Here…let me show you.” Roger looked her in the eyes. His stare was deep and unknowing. Neither of them knew what happened next. They both waited in the sharp and dangerous jaws of fate. She started by slipping her long, slim fingers between his and loosening his grip on his shaft. She then moved his hand downwards to clasp the base of his manhood. Roger watched her hand on his cock, which twitched in approval. He rather liked the image of someone else pleasuring him. He had always known he was well endowed, but never knew what it was like to see it at full length in the palm of a beautiful woman.

Amy stepped further into the shower, allowing her blouse to become soaked with the harsh, cold jets of water pelting down onto them both. She quickly took off her tights to reveal little feet with beautifully painted toenails. But that was by the by. She again took position behind Roger and found the hand that he currently had wrapped around his penis. She took this hand in hers, and slowly, and gently began to move it up and down his shaft.

At first, all Roger did was breath deeper and faster, but when she started to move his hand a little quicker, a small moan escaped his lips. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back. “Look at it Roger” Roger did as she instructed and looked down at his own equipment. He saw its ever growing length, encased in his own strong and sturdy hands, guided by the skilled fingers of Amy, who was now completely drenched in her outfit.

Amy knew the intentions behind this exercise. It was important that Roger be able to ‘sort himself out’ if he needed to in future, however, the feel of his hand in hers, the feel of her pressed up against his tight ass was extremely arousing. But back to him. Slowly, she pressed his fingers closer together, so that his hand became slightly tighter around his cock. She showed him to clasp tighter at the base and loosen up as he made his way to the head. Another moan pierced the air and reverberated off of the walls of the bathroom.

“Roger, you’re in control of this…this is your body, your moment” she muttered in his ear. His breathing got quicker and heavier, and Amy had been swept along in the heat of the moment, she leaned in and twisted her tongue around his ear before nibbling gently on his earlobe.

“Uhhh” Federer groaned as his pumping got faster. Amy began to release her own hand and suspecting herself of becoming too involved in the moment, she stepped out of the cold stream of water, to stand next to him just outside of the shower

“You can do this Rog.” Roger used his other hand to brace himself against the wall of the shower. He leaned forward slightly, his shoulders hunched forward and his hair flicked all over as his fist became a blur around his crotch.

“Uhhh…uhhh…uhhh” he breathed, over and over and over again as he allowed the sensations to wash over him.

“Come on Roger.” Amy encouraged. His form was good. His eyes were closed to allow for fantasy and imagination. His mouth was open so his breaths could escape.

In a last effort to finish this, Amy leaned in and turned the water temperature to hot. Steam instantly encased them both, coating them in a layer of vapour and sweat. “Come on Roger!” Amy called again.

“Uh! Uhhh! I think I’m gonna come, Amy…” His eyes were screwed up tight and his brows were furrowed. “Amy…I think I’m coming!”

“Go on Rog!”

“I need...tissue….uh!...something….UH!”

“Let it go Rog! Come anywhere!”

“Uuuuhhh!!!!!” Roger stilled and his whole body stiffened as intense impulses coursed through his body and his first jet of hot, white fluid shot from the tip of his penis and coated the wall of the shower.

“YES!” Amy cried.

“UUhhh!” Another jet of cum squirted across the shower and onto the wall.

“Well done Roger!”

“Uuuuuuuhhhhhh”. His third ejaculation landed a little further down the wall this time, but the sensation was still as strong. Three more times he shot his produce before his muscles finally relaxed and he opened his eyes. His eyes were glazed and his limbs looked heavy. Amy held her hand out to him.

“Rog?” she said gently.

Roger’s head was hanging low in front of him. He breathed steadily for a minute or two, letting the warmer water cascade down his tired biceps. When Amy took a step towards him, he looked up and around, making sense of reality once more. With a shaky hand, he reached out and turned the water off. His ejaculate still coated the wall. It was then that he turned his head to look at it. His erection had almost instantly subsided and the colour was now returning very quickly to his cheeks. He blushed as he looked from Amy, to the wall and back to Amy again.

“Did I do that?” he asked as he gestured towards the tiles that bore his semen.

“Yep.” Amy smiled kindly at him. “You did well, Roger.”

As he moved his long limbs from out of the shower, Amy couldn’t help but liken Roger to Bambi as he took his first steps. For Roger, this would mean a whole new world and all he needed for it was his hand. She passed him a towel and then left the bathroom. She headed back to her room, deciding the give him privacy for the time being.

 

 

Once back in her room, she grabbed her notepad and pen and began making plans to reunite Roger with his children. She had decided that night by the campfire back in Malawi that Roger desperately needed to see them.

After obtaining Mirka’s number from Severin, she punched in the numbers and waited for someone to pick up.

“Hello?” It was a girl’s voice.

“Uhh, hello…is your mummy there?”

“Yes, I’ll go and get here. Hang on…”

Amy assumed she had just spoken to either Charlene or Myla.

“Hello, this is Mirka speaking” said the much more mature voice on the other end.

“Hello, Mrs Federer. My name is Amy Greene, I am currently representing your husband.”

“Right.” Her tone was icy. Amy wondered if she would have been warmer if a male voice had been on the other end.

“Uh, I hope you don’t mind me calling. Mr Federer doesn’t actually know I’m calling you.”

“What can I do to help you Amy?”

 _Straight to the point then_ , Amy thought. She was just going to come straight out with it.

“I would like to arrange for Mr Federer to see his children soon.” There was a pause.

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“Well…the ball is in your court, so to speak. Roger is fairly free up until the Australian open in January.”

Mirka was very to the point. They both agreed on a date where Mirka and the children would come to visit for the weekend and they both agreed to keep it a secret. But there was definitely no love lost between the two of them. All Amy thought was, mission accomplished.


	11. A little bit of Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger, Amy and June fly to Spain to meet Roger's greatest rival and friend, Rafael Nadal.

Weeks passed with little incident from Roger. With the Australian Open fast approaching, Roger had thrown himself into work. He nagged Amy for time on court and when she was unable to satisfy, he was to be found on the treadmill in the gym. Amy and Mrs White did all they could to help him. Mrs White would put together the specific drinks and meals that he requested, and Amy was busy trying to organise masseurs to come and visit him personally. She was careful to select only male masseurs – she didn’t think she could handle seeing another woman’s hands all over him.

It was December, and Switzerland had begun to get very cold. When Amy awoke in the mornings, her views of Lake Zurich from her window were beautiful mirror-like frozen landscapes. It did, however, mean that Roger’s outdoor court was out of use. Sometimes, Amy would catch him sneaking down to the floodlit courts dressed in a coat and gloves and he would come back half an hour later covered in snow. It was just no use. Switzerland was out of action during the winter. _We need somewhere Roger can practice with a warmer climate_ , thought Amy.

Quickly, she whipped out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She was sure she had saved his number when she had looked through Roger’s phone that time. She was _sure_ of it. There it was! _Rafael Nadal._

Would he be open to her suggestion? There was only one way to find out.

She punched in the numbers.

After a few rings, there was an answer.

“Si?” 

“Erm, yes…hello, Mr Nadal. My name is Amy Greene. I work for Mr Federer…” 

“Oh yes! Buenos Dias, Miss Greene.” 

“Yes, Buenos Dias, Mr Nadal. I was wondering if Mr Federer could come and use your tennis courts. It’s getting pretty cold over here.” 

“Si, of course. Novak, he telling me he want to play here too, so if Novak is playing here, Roger is playing here too. That is no problem Miss Greene.”

They ended their conversation with the agreement that they would meet next day.

Amy went in search of Roger to tell him the good news and found him pacing around the living room, twirling a racket in his hands. Mrs White stood at the sink washing up.

“Mr Federer?” He stopped pacing and looked at her. “I’ve arranged a trip for us to some more accommodating tennis courts.” 

“Ok, I’ll go and kit up…” 

“I think you’ll need more than just your kit, Sir.” 

“Why? Where are we going?” By this point, Mrs White had stopped her washing up and grabbed a tea towel. She stood listening to the conversation whilst drying a plate. 

“Spain.” Mrs White gasped and cooed and Roger laughed and shook his head in disbelief. Amy continued… “I’ve been in touch with Mr Nadal and he has agreed to host you starting tomorrow.” Mrs White put down the plate she was drying and clapped her hands. Roger smiled at Amy in admiration. What a brave and clever thing she had done.

“It’s been too long since I last saw Rafa” Roger pondered. He stroked the line of his jaw. “It would be nice to play him again.” 

“I feel I should also mention, Djokovic will be there.” Roger lifted his head to look at her but then waved away the concern that momentarily washed across his face. Mrs White was positively ecstatic.

“Oh I do like that Mr Nadal” she cooed. “Have you seen his arms?!” Roger looked questioningly at his housemaid who seemed to unravel a new secret every day. She teetered over to Roger and wrapped her arm around his. “His biceps are enormous! They’re like thick pillars of manliness!” She gazed off into the near distance and she clasped her arms around Roger’s slightly smaller arms. Amy knew that Roger had a small complex about the size of his arms, and it was no wonder when he had Nadal to compete with! He did indeed have huge arms! Mrs White continued with a sigh. “Yes…good arms! I bet they’d hold you firm against a wall!” she winked at Amy.

Amy and Roger exchanged shocked looks. Amy, who was perplexed that Mrs White would say something like this in front of Roger, wondered if he had ever heard his house maid talk in this way.

“Well, Mrs White, if Mr Federer approves, perhaps you could come with us to Spain. There’ll be no one here.” Mrs White looked up into Roger’s large eyes. Like always, they gave nothing away. He looked at the frail old lady who had served him so well over the years. “Of course you can come.” He said. Mrs White, squeaked and thanked her boss by reaching up and planting a long, wet kiss on his cheek. Roger looked flustered and blushed as she walked away to continue happily with her work.

“I never knew she felt that way about Rafa.” Roger questioned as he lightly brushed his fingers against his stubbly cheeks where Mrs White had just pecked him. 

“I bet you didn’t know she felt that way about you either!” Amy replied. Roger shot her a look, and then peered over her shoulder in the direction of Mrs White’s exit. He crept around the corner of the hallway comically, as if trying to avoid another encounter with his housemaid. His fingers still rested upon his cheek.

Once he was sure that she was out of sight, he turned back towards Amy and rubbed his hands together. “Right, well…I guess I’d better go and pack.”

 

 

Amy returned to her bedroom and quickly packed her suitcase. She had learned quickly that Federer liked to travel light and preferred those around him to also. Once her things were together, she slumped down onto the bed beside her and contemplated her next few days. She was about to meet Rafael Nadal! He was Roger’s biggest rival and he dominated the clay courts. With Rafa on the mind, Amy browsed through images of the tennis star on google to pass the time. _Mrs White is right_ , she thought. _He does have massive arms_! The images showed Nadal celebrating his points, holding a large shining trophy or hitting a rather aggressive two-handed backhand. He was no-where near as graceful as Roger on the court, but still a formidable force! Occasionally, she would come across a picture of Rafa and Roger together embraced in a post-match hug or stood stoic whilst enduring endless minutes of photographs.

Their relationship had been scrutinised not only professionally, but personally too. Amy recalled one occasion where she had picked up a newspaper to find a photograph on the front of Rafa kneeling at Roger’s feet, a look of longing in his eyes as he regarded the awesome figurative giant before him. In actuality it had turned out that Rafa had to retrieve a tennis ball that had come to rest somewhere at the base of Roger. Inevitably though, the whole world saw no ball, but a couple of tennis champions caught out in a sexual relationship. For a few days before the press conferences, it was the topic of all discussions. Amy remembered how people would say _“Have you seen that photograph?! Who knew!?”_ and _“Rafa’s always wanted to get in Roger’s pants!”_ Amy hadn’t quite been brave enough to question the accusations. She had let herself get swept up in the controversy.

Just as she was about to open up a rather interesting photograph of them both that had caught her eye, she was distracted by a polite knock at the door. “Amy?” It was Roger. Amy locked her phone and quickly stuffed it under the pillow. 

“Come in!” she called.

Rather sheepishly, Roger opened the door slightly and slid in through the small gap he had created. “Um…” he started. He stood with one hand in his jeans pocket and the other raking awkwardly through his chocolate curls. Amy thought he looked very awkward. She quickly looked him up and down for analysis. Nope. No boner. “Uhh…this is going to sound embarrassing but…” he started, his hand still rummaging through his hair. “…have you seen my condoms?”

SHIT! Amy recalled the evening that she had packed for Malawi. She came across the condoms in Roger’s drawer and pocketed them. He never did use them in Africa. They had to be somewhere in her room!

She looked back to Roger who awaited her response with trepidation. His cheeks had turned a shade of pink. “Yes Mr Federer, I do. I intended to pack them for your trip to Malawi.” Would he buy it? What would he want with condoms in Malawi?! He didn’t look convinced either. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. 

“Ooookay” he said “I guess it’s always better to be safe than sorry, but I don’t see why I’d have needed condoms in Malawi.”

 _Because I wanted you to use one with me!_ Amy thought desperately. It had been a while since his fingers had touched her, since he had sought her attentions for his desperate releases and even longer since he had spoken of their couplings. Amy was now searching frantically through her jacket pockets whilst trying to distract Roger from the fact that she had taken the condoms from his room and kept them in her possession since, however, by the look on his face, she hadn’t managed to avoid it. Roger’s brow was furrowed in confusion as he watched her toss her clothes on the floor to try and find his condoms.

Finally, her fingers clasped around a box shaped object. As she peeled it from the pocket lining, she saw it was indeed the condoms. “Here we go” she said. She tossed the box across the room to where Roger was stood at the door. Suddenly, she wondered why he would be looking for condoms if he was packing for Spain.

Perhaps he fancied a ‘posh wank’? Maybe he was going to meet another woman out there! This last thought made Amy’s face hot with jealousy. Or perhaps, the horrid rumours were true! Maybe there was something going on between Nadal and Federer! Or perhaps he had just noticed they were gone and wanted to return them.

Roger noticed her questioning looks and quickly attempted to address them. He looked from Amy to the box and then to Amy again. “I, uh…thought I’d give them to Rafa, you know. He’s always getting lucky with the ladies.” Amy nodded and with that, Roger cleared his throat and left the room.

_Oh well._

Just then, the sensation of angst washed over her again. She felt the familiar feeling of sickness in her stomach. Why was she feeling this? She felt it first as she retrieved her phone from Roger’s bedside table and again when she attempted to seduce him in his study. Now she felt it most intensely after Roger asking for his condoms back. And then, it dawned on her. Condoms were the one thing absent from her night of passion with Roger. Oh shit. She hadn’t seen this dilemma coming.

_I am sat astride Roger Federer in the changing rooms at Wimbledon. My hand palms the front of his shorts which begin to become tight with the strain of his growing erection. His face nuzzles against my neck, spreading the heady concoction of saliva and sweat into my skin. His eyelashes are saturated with the tears that not long ago welled in his deep, dark eyes. With my free hand, I gently scrape my nails through his hair and tug on the bottom of his moist curls to bring his gaze to meet mine. As he comprehends me, I run my hand down his stomach, following the trail of soft, dark hair that culminates below his waistband. With subtlety and tenderness, I slip my hand below the top of his shorts and brush my eager fingers along his length._

 

Amy woke with a start as the jet turned gently in the stillness of the night. She looked across the aisle to Mrs White, who had draped a colourful knitted throw across herself. Her head was propped up against a pillow and she was sleeping soundly. The rest of the cabin was also silent and dimly lit. She looked out of the window at the world below and saw a few twinkling lights. Unable to decipher their location, she thought back to her dream. Roger seemed so submissive in her dreams. The man in question was opposite her, slumped in his seat, his cap pulled down over his eyes and his arms folded. His legs were spread wide and his lips were pursed as he breathed slowly in and out, unaware that there was now wakefulness around him.

As Amy regarded his beautiful sleeping form, she saw that Roger had an unexpected problem. Through his jeans, she could see the shape of his dick, solid and lengthening beneath. She had heard that this happened to men in their sleep, several times a night apparently! However, she had never been with a man long enough to find this out for herself. Evidently is was true! In order to preserve his dignity, she found a pillow and placed it gently over his crotch. It soon became apparent, however, that she hadn’t done this softly enough. Beneath his cap, Roger opened his eyes. He grunted gently at the feel of weight in his lap and lifted his cap from his head. His hair was messy and tangled and his eyes were unfocused as he squinted at Amy.

“Roger?” she whispered. Roger rubbed his face softly, yawned and stretched. As he did so, the pillow that Amy had placed fell from his lap to the floor. It was lucky that Mrs White had stayed asleep. “Roger…um…” she nodded towards his groin and Roger looked down. He didn’t attempt to cover it. 

“Ah shit” he whispered.

“Does that happen a lot?” she asked as she nodded towards his enlarged member. He sighed in response. 

“Yeah.” He rubbed his eyes and breathed out heavily before flopping his arms down so that one of his hands came to rest over his crotch. Amy felt her stomach jolt at the sight of his delicate hands in contact with his magnificent equipment. “It happens when I sleep. I think it’s something that happens to most guys.” He slouched down in his seat even more, seemingly indifferent towards the bodily functions that he had no control over. He stretched his legs out and his feet knocked Amy’s. Somewhere next to them, Mrs White stirred and Roger jumped slightly in his seat as if he had forgotten that they weren’t alone. Almost immediately, he defensively moved his hands to his lap.

“Rog, you need to sort that out.” Roger grumbled and complained. He clearly didn’t want to make the effort to abolish his morning glory. Amy questioned whether he might still be half asleep.

For the next half hour, despite Amy’s nagging, Roger stayed in his seat, drifting in and out of sleep, his cock still rigid beneath his jeans. Amy stayed thankful that Mrs White was asleep and oblivious of what was going on. However, when the co-pilot exited the cockpit to tell her that they were 20 minutes away from landing, Amy had a dilemma on her hands.

She moved across to Roger who had fallen asleep again and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “Roger?” she whispered. “Roger, wake up.” He stirred and blinked. “Roger, we’re landing in 20 minutes and you’re still hard.” As if he had no recollection of what happened the last time he woke up, he looked down at his crotch and sighed once more. “You need to get rid of it.” 

“Rafa wouldn’t care” he protested as he folded his arms across his chest and made to fall asleep once more. 

“Maybe, but the rest of the world will when they see it on the front of the papers!” she grabbed his hand and dragged him out of his seat. He stumbled into the aisle, careful not to fall onto Mrs White. His jeans were straining at the front as he dragged his feet along the floor.

At the end of the aisle, Amy tore open the door of the bathroom and pushed Roger inside. “Sort it out!” she whispered urgently.

Roger raised his eyebrows and mocked her comically. With a smirk that said ‘there’s nothing to worry about’, he went into the bathroom, one hand already undoing the buttons on his jeans.

Amy thought back to the last time that he had tried to masturbate and recalled that it had been difficult for him, so she waited patiently outside the door just in case she was needed. For the first five minutes, she heard nothing. She had been awaiting his call for help for some time but it hadn’t come. Could it be that she had taught him well after all?

Eventually from behind the door, she heard the reassuring noises of Roger’s heavy breathing. His breaths steadily grew in intensity until eventually they started to become rhythmic moans. Amy couldn’t help but smile as she shared this moment with Federer. She placed her ear against the door and could feel the vibrations of Roger’s deep groans through the surface. She closed her eyes and started to feel herself getting wet at the noises emanating from the little room beyond. She had the urge to get in there with him. Finally Roger’s noises seemed to come to a head as Amy heard him try to supress a cry of ecstasy. After this final groan, the breathing could no longer be heard and so Amy returned to her seat.

At the other end of the aisle, Mrs White had woken up and asked her where she had been.

“Mr Federer wanted to use the bathroom.” Amy shrugged casually. 

“And you’re not in there with him?” June raised an expectant eyebrow. Now that June knew that they had slept together, she seemed to expect them to do it all the time. 

“No, no. I think he just wanted to…erm…you know…freshen up a bit.” 

“Ok, dear.” June smiled kindly as Amy took her seat again.

Just as Amy had sat down, the door to the bathroom opened and Roger walked out back to his seat. His hair appeared messier than it did before he went into the bathroom and his cheeks were flushed since all of the blood had returned to his head. As he walked past Mrs White, he gave her a courteous nod and wished her good morning. The sky outside had begun to turn pink with daylight.

“Mr Federer, I think you have some toothpaste on your shirt.” She pointed to a white spot on the chest of his shirt. Amy’s eyes widened and Roger looked mortified. 

“Umm…thanks June”. Both Roger and Amy knew that it wasn’t toothpaste.

“Well, I think I’d better freshen up a little too! Mr Nadal will be waiting for us!” June gave Amy a little wink and toddled off to the bathroom at the back of the plane.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Amy leaped up to inspect the stain on his shirt. She pushed Roger back into his chair and leaned in closely. “Amy…OOF!” She licked her thumb and began rubbing the shirt vigorously. It didn’t seem to want to budge. Roger bit his lip as Amy got rougher and rougher with her thumb. 

“I can’t get it out, Roger…” Roger held his hands out in helplessness. 

“I didn’t realise it had gone that far!” he proclaimed. 

“Well didn’t you use tissue or something?!” Roger blushed even more and cast his eyes downward in embarrassment. 

“We’ll have to say it’s toothpaste.” Said Amy giving up. Roger nodded in agreement and they spoke very little for the rest of the descent.

 

When they landed in Spain, Roger met with a security guard that he had arranged for. June and Amy stayed a few paces behind Roger as they meandered their way through security checks at which point, there had been no attention. However, as they passed through a set of double doors, the noise became deafening.

Fans lined the walkway cramped together and squirming to get a better view of Roger Federer. They held signs that said ‘Vamos Roger’ and ‘We luv u Rog!’. Girls were screaming with tears streaming down their cheeks. Many were holding out gifts of flowers and letters, eager for Roger to know of their existence. Amy couldn’t help feeling sorry for them. She was once one of these. She had been lucky. She approached the girls and took the gifts from them, promising to put them into Roger’s hands personally. They seemed grateful even if a little confused about who she was. Up ahead, Roger was signing autographs for the luckiest people as cameras flashed all around them. Amy wondered if the speck of cum on his shirt would be seen in the images.

 _At least he didn’t walk into the terminal with an erection_ , thought Amy.

When they attempted to move on, Roger was hounded by reporters who thrust microphones in his face. He endured such questions such as ‘ _Roger, what are you doing here in Spain?’_ and ‘ _Why have you split with Mirka?’_ and _‘Is it true you’ll never see your kids again?’_ Amy could feel her blood boiling over their intrusion into his privacy. He managed to politely ask them to respect his privacy in the matter of his divorce.

Once he had fought his way through the crowds, he was bundled into a taxi and they were all on their way to Rafa’s house.


	12. Nadal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger, Amy and June arrive in Spain. After her realisation that she could be pregnant, Amy takes a pregnancy test.

On the way to Rafa’s house, the three of them were fairly silent down to a combination of different factors. They were all tired from the journey and hadn’t eaten in so long. Roger and Amy dared not converse after the close call with the ‘toothpaste’ incident, the main issue of which was still on Roger’s shirt. There was also the uncomfortable factor that Amy knew that Mrs White knew about the secret relationship between her and Roger Federer, but Federer had no idea that anyone else knew. On top of all of this secrecy, Amy now had an additional burden on her shoulders.

That night. The night when there was no going back. She and Roger had succumbed to their lust and enjoyed an evening of passion, however, neither of them had been clever enough to use protection and the condoms lay in her pocket untouched and unused. Amy had decided that no blame was to be given, however it did now leave her with questions. Could she be pregnant with Roger’s baby?

There was no time to ponder this any longer as the car had started to slow. It pulled up outside of a magnificent looking Spanish mansion. By this time, the sun was high in the sky and it made the large house shine a bright white.

Roger jumped out of the car onto a stone driveway. Amy followed and helped Mrs White out of the car. Roger squinted in the sunlight as he strode over towards the front door, but before he could reach it, the door was pulled open and in the frame stood a tall, dark man, a shining white smile across his tanned face.

“Roger!” he exclaimed as he threw his hands above him. Roger smiled back at him.

“Rafa”

Nadal ran out of the shade of his home and into the blazing sun to throw his arms around the shoulders of his best friend. He had to stand on his toes slightly in order to do so. Roger reciprocated and wrapped an arm firmly around Rafa’s back. “It’s been too long, Rafa” he muffled into Rafa’s shoulder. Rafa withdrew and held his friend at arms-length, his leathery hands gripping Roger’s forearms firmly. He pecked him affectionately on each cheek.

“Si…” _peck_ “…I am telling Uncle Toni…” _peck “_ that I miss my friend Roger Federer but now here he is!”

“Here he is indeed.” Roger smiled back at Rafa, his greatest rival and very best friend.

Amy and June caught up with the pair. Amy had started to sweat slightly under the heat of the midday sun and her eyes were almost completely closed because of the brightness. “Rafa, this is Amy Greene and you know my housemaid Mrs White.” Amy watched as Nadal swept up June’s hand, brought it to his lips and planted a delicate kiss on her skin.

“Beautiful, like always.” He gave her a dazzling smile that made June become flustered. She giggled like a little girl before heading into the house. Roger held out his arm for her to take and he escorted her in.

Rafa then turned to face Amy. “Roger…he tell me he got new assistant. He not tell me that she is so beautiful.” Amy laughed. He was as charming in person as he appeared on screen. He continued… “I am thinking, how does Roger keep his hands from you, no?” Rafa laughed as he said this and Amy mirrored his actions, unsure as to whether he knew about them, or whether he merely suspected.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Nadal. I’ve been a fan for many years.” Rafa shook his head.

“It is not me you should be fan of. You should be fan of him.” He turned and nodded at Roger, who had just come back out of the house and started to make his way back toward them.

He put his hands on Amy’s forearms, just as he had done with Roger and kissed her politely on both cheeks. “Welcome to my home, Amy. Please make your home.”

Roger, Rafa and Amy walked into the house together. When they came into the hallway, Roger and Rafa made a left into the kitchen area. Amy stood still and looked around her. There was an enormous winding staircase, a large clock and in the corner there stood…Djokovic!

He was leaned up against the wall with his arms folded in front of him. He had clearly been watching Amy since she had walked in. When their eyes met, he smiled kindly. “Novak!” Amy’s heart leapt. She had a friend here! She ran over to him, her hair flailing out behind her, a big toothy grin plastered over her face. Novak held his arms out to her and bent his knees. She threw her arms around him and he wrapped his around her. “It’s so nice to see you, Novak!”

“It’s good to see you too.”

“Oh, Novak, I’ve got so much to tell you!” Novak smiled again as he looked at her, but as something caught his attention over her shoulder, he gave Amy a quick

“shhh” and spun her around so that she could see Roger and Rafa coming back into the hallway.

“Me and Roger is deciding that all us together is needing a celebration.” Rafa grinned and bobbed up and down on his feet. “Tomorrow I want to have party…big party with all of us!”

“Yes, Rafa!” Novak chipped in confidently. “A party is completely what we need!” Amy had never heard Novak speak to Rafa before. She thought he sounded like a big brother to him. In fact, both Novak and Roger seemed to treat Rafa as a younger sibling. It was very sweet, she thought.

“I think now we should go play?” Rafa asked of Roger and Novak.

“I’m in.” Roger replied almost instantaneously. Novak also agreed to play, but a terrible image crossed Amy’s mind…an image of Roger losing control again. Only her and Novak knew, and that’s the way she wanted it to stay. If Rafa found out about Roger’s problem, things would start to get out of hand. Roger and Rafa started to walk away presumably to kit up for their game and Novak started to follow, but Amy tugged on his arm.

“Novak!” she whispered. He turned around again, his eyes wide and questioning. He looked from his arm, where her hand was clasped around it, to her concerned expression. “Novak, what if…you know…something happens?” Realisation dawned across his face and he smirked cheekily.

“Well then, he has you to sort him out doesn’t he.” Amy wasn’t messing around. She was serious. She smacked him on the arm. He feigned injury and tried to be comically dramatic.

“I’m serious Novak! No one else except us can know!”

Novak straightened his back and looked down at her. He realised in this moment how much this meant to her, keeping Federer’s secret. He figured he had to be one hell of a lover for someone to care for his dignity so much. “Ok. Leave it to me.” With a nod, he clutched her reassuringly close and left the hall.

Amy felt privileged to have such a relationship with Novak. If it wasn’t for him, she probably would have left Switzerland, bound for London never to work for a tennis player again, because she was damned if she was going to work for Andy Murray. She appreciated the constancy of Novak over the past few weeks. Suddenly, her emotions peaked and she dissolved into tears of fear and anxiety. She had been stupid to sleep with Roger without precautions. She had let herself fall for his charm and had succumbed to her sympathy for him and now she could really be up shit creek without a paddle.

As she sobbed quietly making her way down the hall, Mrs White poked her head out from around her bedroom door. “Amy? Whatever is the matter?” she rushed out of the room that Nadal had kindly provided for her and rested her skinny hand on Amy’s arm.

“Oh, June…I’ve been so stupid!” she cried into June’s shoulder. The old lady patted Amy sympathetically and then ushered her into the room.

Once she was sat on the bed, she hung her head low. June watched her for a few moments, feeling utterly helpless. “My dear, please tell me what’s going on.”

“We never…” Amy started. “…we never…never…used protection!” she grabbed at the bed sheets and sobbed into them again. All June could do to comfort her was pat her lightly on the shoulder.

“Well my dear, the only thing for it is to see if you’re pregnant.” Amy looked shocked and for a moment she stopped her crying.

“But…I can’t do that! I’m in Spain. I haven’t a clue what I’m doing!”

June smiled kindly at her. “Amy, did I ever tell you the story of when Roy and I thought I might be pregnant?”

For the next hour, June distracted Amy with her story. She told her about her first ‘scare’ and how in those days they had to see a doctor as there were no such things as pregnancy tests. She told her about how it took them years to conceive their first child and how miraculous is was when their first son was born. Amy listened and felt her heart lightened. She asked herself how bad it would really be if she was carrying Roger Federer’s child. After all, she knew that he produced beautiful children. She sighed and smiled at June.

Just then, there was a noise from outside the room. It was the sound of muffled male voices and jovial laughter and Amy knew that they had returned.

Shortly afterwards, there was a knock at the door and Djokovic entered. He took one look at Amy and his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?” he closed the door behind him and rushed to the bed to kneel at Amy’s feet. Immediately, June stepped in and tried to throw him off of the scent.

“She just has a headache Mr Djokovic.” Djokovic looked at Mrs White as if he had a bad smell under his nose, as if to say ‘ _who the hell do you think you are, lady?!_ ’ His chivalry was charming and flattering.

“June…” Amy started. “…it’s ok. Novak knows.” And with that, Djokovic returned his attention to Amy. He held her ankles gently and looked wistfully into her eyes, awaiting her explanation.

“That night…with Roger. We…erm…we didn’t use protection.” She let her head fall in shame so that her hair fell forward to shield her face. For a few moments, Djokovic appeared to do nothing but think. But then he slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up abruptly.

“Ok, so…me and Mrs White will go and get you a pregnancy test. You’ll wait here and rest. Don’t worry about anything, ok?”

Amy felt a new wave of emotions start to wash over her. She felt immense gratitude for what Djokovic and June were doing for her. Tears leaked from her tired eyes and she nodded silently.

As Djokovic stood up and made for the door, Amy looked up. “Novak? Where’s Roger?” With his hand still on the edge of the door, he looked from Amy and then to June and seemed to be thinking very quickly.

“He’s brushing his teeth.” He winked at Amy. And with that, the two of them were gone.

_What on earth is that supposed to mean?_ Thought Amy. She pondered no longer and decided instead to go for a lie down. She wondered through the great house looking for a room with her suitcase outside and found it off of one of the main corridors.

Inside was a very comfortable looking room with a large bed made up with white sheets. There was a door out to a balcony that had been opened so that a warm breeze blew the gossamer curtains lazily into the room. As serene and wonderful as it was, Amy trudged over to the door and closed it so that the room was instantly transformed from one of tranquillity to one of quiet. She pulled down the blinds to block out the blue skies and serene views. The room was plunged into darkness.

She fumbled around to find a lamp beside her table and when she switched it on, the room was illuminated orange.

When she started to pull back the sheets and clamber into bed, she could hear the sounds of mumbling voices coming from a room not too far away. Judging by the pitch and tone of their mumbles, she deciphered that it was Roger and Rafa, probably having a post-match chat. She wondered briefly what June and Novak were talking about. She wondered what Roger and Rafa asked about their departure. But this didn’t occupy her mind for too long. Before she knew it, she had drifted into a deep sleep.

 

_I am sat in the warm lap of Roger Federer, my hand down the front of his shorts. We have shared our emotions and now our encounter is much more about lustful thoughts than sentiment. I wrap my hand around his hardened cock and as I do so, he lets out a hot breath and closes his eyes. I tighten my legs around his back and feel the dampness of his top. He spreads his knees wider to accommodate me and his hands travel down my back to my behind where he rests them. As I start to move my fist, his grip on me tightens and he bares his teeth in some carnal fashion. His lips are wet and wanting and he searches blindly for my mouth. I give in to him. I bring my own yearning lips to his and allow my tongue to invade him. Inside the refuge of his mouth our tongues search desperately for solace, sliding uncontrollably and deliberately until we have to pause for breath. We lean our foreheads together and as we pant urgently, Roger’s sweat drips between us and lands on one of our legs._

Someone walked into her room. The door opened, there was a momentary flash of white light and then the dimness of the room returned to tell her that it was safe to go to sleep again, except, she wasn’t alone this time. The bed sank under the weight of someone who sat beside her. The stranger did nothing for some time. Their breathing was quiet and steady.

The person stroked a tender hand over her forehead and delicately brushed a rogue strand of hair from her face. The fingers withdrew to be replaced by a set of soft lips that planted a kiss on her forehead.

The bed raised and the presence was gone. The white light returned for a moment and then dissolved away with the shutting of a door.

 

_Roger looks at the bead of sweat that has been absorbed by his shorts. I sweep the sodden curls from his forehead and press my thumbs firmly against his skin. We have come to an impasse. Our lips have tasted the sweet nectar that we offer, our hands have touched the wantonness we crave. There is but one release still between us. My hand has long since ceased to stir and the supressed creature inside of him grows impatient and restless. His eyes scream the need for tenderness and touch._

The door opened again. The bright light returned. There were voices around her, hushed voices.

“…well she clearly isn’t feeling well!”

“I can see that she’s sleeping, but this is important!”

“And I suppose you’re the one making all of the decisions for her?!”

“Don’t put words in my mouth!”

When Amy stirred, the talking stopped and another body sat on the bed beside her. A cool hand stroked the hair away from her forehead.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” It was Novak. Amy prised her eyes open and looked around her. She felt as if she had been asleep for weeks. Djokovic gave her a weak smile from next to her. She squinted to see June stood at the foot of her bed, clutching a little white bag.

“Is that it?” she nodded towards it.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Novak replied.

June teetered over and placed the bag on the bed in front of her. Amy stared at it. June and Novak watched Amy eye up the bag as if it were some foe she were to do battle with. When he realised that Amy wasn’t going to do anything with it, he picked it up, reached into it and pulled out the test.

“Come on” he said “you know you’ve got to do it.” Amy scoffed and wrinkled her nose in disapproval. Suddenly, she resented it all.

“I don’t have to do anything, Novak.” Novak looked over his shoulder at June, who simply shrugged her shoulders in helplessness.

“I’m going to go and see if the boys need anything…” she said quietly as she snuck out through the door.

Now the two of them were alone, and still Amy regarded the test as her enemy. Novak could sense the hostility and found himself quite helpless.

“Come on, Amy” he pleaded “you know you have to do this.”

“YOU’RE THE ONE WHO SAID I SHOULD SLEEP WITH HIM, NOVAK!” Gone were the glazed eyes. Amy no longer sat and pondered. Her eyes blazed with fury. She hated Novak in that moment. She hated him! He withdrew from her instantaneously. She hadn’t finished. “YOU CAN’T JUST PLAY WITH PEOPLE’S LIVES! THIS ISN’T A JOKE! LOOK WHERE IT’S GOT ME!” Novak bowed his head. She was right. He had prompted her to do this. He accepted her berating until finally, she threw back the sheets and stood up. She raked her fingers through her hair and pulled tightly.

“Give it here” she demanded, and Novak placed the test into her hand. She went into the en-suite and closed the door behind her. Was Novak going to stay there and wait for her?

She opened the packaging and followed the instructions. She had never done this before. It felt strange having to pee on something. When she had finished, she opened the bathroom door and saw that Novak hadn’t moved. She took the test with her and sat beside him on the end of the bed. Neither of them looked at each other and they sat in silence for a minute. Novak then took Amy’s hand in his and squeezed tightly.

“Forgive me.”

Amy didn’t look at him. She stared absently at their knees. “You don’t need to be forgiven. I made my choice.”

“Whatever happens, we’re in this together, ok?” This last sentence he directed straight at her. She nodded and he kissed her on the top of her head.

The time came for Amy to check the test. Novak squeezed her hand tighter as she looked down at the window.

“It’s negative.”

Amy was half expecting Novak to cry Hallelujah and dance his way around the room in celebration, but he didn’t. In fact, his expression barely changed. He watched Amy intently for signs of emotion. Amy was grateful, because she wasn’t feeling as she expected. Yes, she was off the hook, she got lucky…but part of her was disappointed that Federer hadn’t left part of himself inside of her.

All of a sudden, she felt herself pining for him. She wanted to see him, so desperately.

“I want to see him.” She said, almost robotically. Novak stood up and helped her up from the bed.

“OK, let’s go and see him.”

They found Roger talking to Rafa in the living room. He wore jeans and a loose woollen jumper. As he came into view, Novak released Amy’s hand and she hurried over to him. “Roger…” He barely had time to react. She flung her arms around him and held him tightly against her. Surprisingly to both Novak and Rafa, he reciprocated. He held her close to his chest and clutched her hair protectively.

“You’re ok…” he said. “You’re here with us…you’re ok.”


	13. Party Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy, Roger, Rafa and Novak get to know each other better whilst planning a party.

That evening, Rafa called everyone together to discuss the party over a few drinks. He had insisted that Amy stay, claiming that she was now part of the family and therefore had to be there. Roger told Amy that Mrs White had met a Spanish gentleman in town that afternoon who had offered to wine and dine her that evening and wouldn’t be joining them.

Once Rafa had ensured that everyone had a drink in their hand (for Amy it was a rum and coke), he took a seat next to Roger on the sofa opposite Amy and Novak, a pen and paper in his hands. Roger and Novak had been idly talking about past matches, happy in each other’s company and paying little attention to Amy, which she didn’t mind, as she was content to be sat in the presence of champions, listening to the music playing softly from each corner of the living room. They seemed to barely notice Rafa when he joined. Amy watched as he listened to Roger and Novak, daring to interject with an equally funny memory or a comment about a particular point.

Eventually, Rafa caught Amy’s eye and smiled. He’d caught her watching his failed attempts at involving himself in the conversation and he had the humility to chuckle at his own poor efforts. Amy smiled back encouragingly, and this seemed to give Rafa the confidence to try to interrupt once again. There was a brief lull of conversation, just after Novak had commented on a particularly tricky point that Roger had pulled off in one of their previous encounters, and Rafa seized the opportunity…

“So, I am thinking we make a list of people we want at the party, si?”

Novak relaxed back into the sofa, rested one foot on the other knee and spread his arms wide across the back of the sofa. “Girls, Rafa…lots of girls”

Rafa blushed slightly and looked down at his paper with a coy smile. His pen hovered several inches above it, poised and ready to write down ‘girls’ as Novak had requested. Roger and Novak laughed sympathetically and Amy couldn’t supress a giggle. Roger took the pen and paper from Rafa’s hands.

“Here, Novak…girls”. He wrote quickly and purposefully before putting the end of the pen in his mouth and sucking. “Should we invite some of the guys from the tour?”

“Si, Rogi!” “Yes!”

“Andy?”

“Nah, he’s a tosser. We should invite someone who actually has a personality.”

“What about Thomas?”

“He’s already in Australia.”

“Ahh the creep”

“Stan?”

“Yes!”

The conversation continued this way for several minutes, during which Amy said nothing. She sipped her drink and listened to who they planned to have over for the party. They would be inviting Stan Wawrinka and Severin Luthi, David Ferrer, Boris Becker and a few of Rafa’s close female friends for Novak.

Once the most important aspects of the party had been finalised (which included Novak’s insistence upon having plenty of alcohol), they all relaxed back into leisurely conversation about happy memories from the tour. Rafa was a lot more animated this time around as he was complimented numerous times on the style of his play. Amy also joined in the conversation, not holding back on her most honest and candid opinions. The three tennis players smiled at her as she told them all about how she had enjoyed every second she had spent watching Novak dominate a court and Rafa terrify his opponents. She didn’t speak so much about Roger, who had noticed and was trying hard not to look upset.

When the conversation came to a natural end, Rafa stretched and yawned. “I go to bed I think” he said.

5 minutes and some manly good night hugs later, Novak and Rafa were in their rooms, leaving Amy and Roger alone in the living room. Amy picked up on the atmosphere that lingered between them. It felt awkward. Roger was sat forward on the sofa opposite her, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes looking anywhere except at Amy. Amy felt suddenly very sad. Sat opposite her was a man who had little to give, but gave it up anyway to a stranger who had entered his life and turned it upside down. Roger had had no idea that Amy could have been carrying his child. He sat completely oblivious to the torment that Amy had endured a few hours before, and she felt sad for him.

Amy stood up and crossed the short distance between her sofa and Roger’s and he watched her as she did so. She sat next to him and put her head on his shoulder. Roger turned his head gently to look at her, but she didn’t look back up at him. Instead she closed her eyes to prevent more stinging salty tears from running down her cheeks. After a few seconds, Roger lowered his head to rest on hers, and his curls tickled Amy’s neck. Neither of them spoke, even as Amy boldly placed her hand on Roger’s leg, feeling the firm quadriceps, solid and still underneath his jeans. Oddly, in this moment, Amy felt as if she had known Roger for years. She felt as though closeness between them wasn’t forbidden and had, in fact, always been the right thing.

Roger’s hands were resting on his legs, and didn’t move as Amy slowly stroked her hand over the tops of them. Every now and then she would squeeze her fingers gently and Roger would breathe out heavily through his nose. Time passed slowly as the two of them fell further into a relaxed and sleepy state. Amy felt happy and safe and could have sworn that Roger was falling asleep. She didn’t mind in the slightest, but the weight of his body next to hers, the smell of him, the way his hair was falling around her, it was making her want him…desperately.

Amy followed her instincts and began to gradually move her hand up Roger’s leg until it came to rest on his crotch. There she began to apply pressure to the palm of her hand, pushing down and cupping him between his legs. Upon feeling Amy’s hand working, Roger took a deep breath in and removed his own hands from his legs and instead, put one of them on Amy’s head and ran his long fingers through her hair. The other hand, Amy could feel, was gripping the edge of his seat. With every re-application of pressure from Amy’s hand, Roger gripped her hair a little tighter, yet still, the pair stayed virtually silent.

Amy could feel her stomach twisting into knots. Her desire for Roger grew with every second, much like Federer’s cock, which was hardening quickly beneath Amy’s ministrations. Brazenly, Roger began to flex his hips, pushing his crotch up into Amy’s hand, telling her it was ok. His fingertips absently massaged her head as his own fell backwards, his eyes closed languidly and his mouth open. Amy looked up at him to see his curls starting to stick to his forehead.

Everything about this moment felt right. For the first time, Roger was giving signs that he had waited for this. She was in a good place and in good company and with a good man. Surely, this was everything they both needed. She considered how Roger had been when she first met him. He was shy, tentative and extremely out of practice. And what about her? She had been outrageous and dominant. She looked at him again. His brows were furrowed in an expression of sexual frustration and angst and his lips were moist and parted. In one swift motion, she lifted one leg up and over Roger’s lap to straddle him, with her free hand, she tugged at the curly, chocolate brown tendrils of his hair, and she fumbled with the zip at the front of his jeans. This produced a deep growl that emanated from Federer like a lion. She couldn’t help herself. She wanted that moan to herself. She wanted to have it deep inside of her, to bite down on it, to bottle it up. She thrust her tongue into Roger’s waiting mouth and he rewarded her with another guttural moan that reverberated in her every extremity. She wrapped his hair around every one of her fingers and simultaneously explored beneath Roger’s jeans.

It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for. Roger’s cock had been hard the moment she had brushed her hands over the top of his jeans. She clasped her fingers around his impressive length and bit down on his bottom lip.

“Please…” he groaned. He thrust harder into her hand.

“Roger…”

At that moment, there was a noise from down a corridor. It was the noise of a door opening. Like a ninja, Amy pulled her hand from Roger’s jeans and threw herself back into the sofa and managed to adopt a semi-casual posture before Rafa emerged, topless and looking spectacularly bronzed. Amy glanced at Roger, who was looking flushed but had nonetheless managed to seize a cushion to conceal the erection threatening to escape from his jeans.

“Rogi…can I speak with you please?”

Amy saw Roger gape at Rafa for a split second and his grip on the cushion tighten slightly before answering.

“Sure, Rafa…what’s the matter?”

Amy decided that this was a conversation that was meant to be private so she stood up and bid them both good night, taking note of the look of utter horror on Roger’s face at the prospect of being left in this situation alone.

With the taste of Roger still on her lips and the feel of him lingering on her fingertips, she retreated to her room still burning with desire. She climbed into bed still thinking of Roger, of how he growled and groaned in pleasure beneath her. She thought also of how she had left him in there with Rafa. Before she knew it, she was touching herself the way she had the first night she had slept with Roger, and after a short while, she was done and ready to call it a night. Except, not more than 15 minutes or so after she had left the two tennis champions in the living room, her phone buzzed. It was Roger.

_I thought he’d never leave._

Amy supressed a giggle so as to not wake those around her and she quickly typed a response.

_I hope Rafa didn’t notice anything._

_No. He wouldn’t have minded anyway._

_That’s good then._

Amy replaced her phone on the table beside her bed having assumed that the conversation was over, but after a few minutes of silence, there came another message.

_You didn’t finish what you were doing._

Amy smiled at the thought of Roger Federer alone and horny in his room and she considered going in there, but instead, preferred the idea that he might be longing for her.

_I didn’t think you would have wanted Rafa to watch._

_I know, but it felt nice._

Amy thought about what Roger was doing. Was he in bed? Had he learned enough from her to sort himself out? Amy didn’t get to ponder the answers to these questions for too long, for she had fallen into a deep sleep.

 

_The hungry animal inside Roger Federer has awoken. I sit astride him, my legs clasped firmly around his waist. In my hand, I hold his cock which his hot and gently pulsing. He isn’t sated. Where before there was a timid and disinterested man, there sits before me a transformed being. He is ravenous. He wants me to move, to finish him off. He begins rocking his hips, encouraging me to move along to his rhythm. I do so, to please him, and it pleases me too. I try hard not to lose my senses as he presses firm fingertips into the tops of my thighs and growls. It becomes too much for me to remain barred by fabric from him. I lift his chin up so that his eyes focus on mine and reassure him as I remove my hand from his shorts and slip from his lap. I come to rest on the floor between his legs and he knows what’s coming._

The next day was a bit of a blur. Amy awoke to find that Roger, Rafa and Novak were all busying themselves about the house making it party-ready. Roger was tidying things away whilst Rafa and Novak were in the kitchen, sharing tips on how to cook the best party food. Novak was insisting that some of it be gluten free and vegan, whilst Rafa was keen to ensure that his guests were overcome by flavour.

Amy thought she’d help Roger with the cleaning since she had never been good at cooking. She took a duster with her into the living room where Roger was sat on the floor seemingly admiring Rafa’s music and dvd collection. She walked over and stood behind him.

“Does he have ‘the holiday’? I love that film” she said.

He looked up at her apparently surprised by her presence, as if he had been in a world of his own.

“Oh, um…no I don’t think so…” He stumbled over his words. Amy sat down beside him and Roger turned his attention to the carpet.

“We’ll need to do something about that!” Amy joked, but Roger simply giggled reservedly. Amy stood up and continued with her cleaning. Occasionally she would turn around and find Roger looking at her, but he would move his gaze away when he saw her looking. This continued for the rest of the day. Roger was being uncharacteristically shy around her despite her best efforts to engage him in conversation.

She was saved in the form of Rafa and Novak, who came into the living room, each wearing a completely different expression. Novak strode in proudly, an enormous grin upon his face, followed by Rafa who was drying his hands on a towel and looking at Novak in sheer displeasure.

“Gluten free and vegan snacks for everybody tonight!” said Novak as he spread his arms wide. Roger said nothing but looked from Novak to Rafa who cocked an eyebrow.

“Si. Novak took all ingredients to make food with no flavour.” Rafa looked quite disgruntled. Amy could see that cooking was something that he was quite passionate about.

“Sheesh!” Novak exclaimed. “Chill out, Rafa. I’ll just go out and get you some more stuff.” He turned quickly on his heel and jovially made towards the door. Roger jumped up too.

“I’ll come with you. I could do with, uh…getting some stuff.”

And they both left.

Rafa cocked and eyebrow again and shrugged. “He think it make him popular.” Amy nodded absently. He was right; Novak had always relied on good deeds for his popularity rather than his character. He’d been on the tour for several years now and still never got even close to the same levels of popularity as Roger and Rafa. _It’s a shame. He’s been such a good friend over the months_ thought Amy. Rafa shook his head and turned back towards the kitchen.

“Rafa, wait-”

He stopped and looked back, his dark eyes searching her.

“Last night…Roger…” she failed with her words, but she noticed Rafa trying to supress a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. He appeared to blush slightly underneath his tanned skin. Amy knew that Rafa could see she was uncomfortable with the topic, but he didn’t put her out of her misery. In fact, he stood and waited for her to continue.

“Erm…was he, y’know…alright?”

Despite having only recently met Rafael Nadal, Amy realised that she could read him like a book. His brows furrowed in mock confusion as he pretended not to know what she was talking about. He shuffled his feet and shook his head.

“Yes, he was fine-“

“Rafa?” her tone was cautionary. _Don’t mess with me_ , she thought. This time, he paused before responding. He turned his whole body towards her and took a few steps forwards. He sighed deeply and stopped right before Amy. He put his rough hand gently on her arm.

“Amy, I promise to you, Roger is fine.” _Good_ , she thought. She could breathe easy. Either Rafa hadn’t noticed anything, or Roger had managed to take care of things. Things were good right now and Amy couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly grateful for Rafa as well as Novak.

“Thanks Rafa!” she beamed at him before throwing her arms around him. He was extremely solid, much more solid than Roger and about twice as thick as Novak. He truly was a real-life Adonis. He seemed quite taken aback at being hugged by someone he didn’t know too well, especially when he considered it was his best friend’s assistant. At first, his arms remained by his sides and he stood motionless. Eventually he conceded and patted Amy kindly on the back.


End file.
